


Before the Storm

by A_New_World_To_Be_Won



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Grantaire, Cynic Grantaire, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Eventual Enjolras/Grantaire, Idealist Enjolras, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Matchmaker Courfeyrac, Oblivious Enjolras, Pining, Pining Grantaire, Trans Enjolras, a lot of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_New_World_To_Be_Won/pseuds/A_New_World_To_Be_Won
Summary: In retrospect, this hadn’t been a good idea. It was all Eponine’s fault, as things tend to be.ORGrantaire joins Social Justice Club and meets Enjolras, an idealist who believes in a world that Grantaire cannot see. High School AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You, my friend,” Courfeyrac says, poking Grantaire in the chest. “You have got a thing for Enj! Don’t try to deny it,” he adds, seeing the look on Grantaire’s face. “It was so obvious. To everyone except for Enjolras.”

In retrospect, this hadn’t been a good idea. It was all Eponine’s fault, as things tend to be.

 

Eponine and Grantaire had been laying on the couch in Grantaire’s living room. Grantaire didn’t know where his parents were, and they most likely didn’t know where he was. This was an arrangement that suited them all just fine. There was a large bowl of popcorn between them, which Eponine was devouring. Grantaire didn’t really like popcorn, truth be told, but he liked making it. Watching the kernels pop satisfied him. He had worried that he had made too much, but his worries were quickly soothed when, only an hour into the movie, Eponine was asking him if he could make some more after she finished this bowl. Grantaire had agreed, and they were now on their second bowl of popcorn, already half finished.

“D’you think that all this popcorn is bad for me?” Eponine had mumbled, stuffing another fistful of popcorn into her mouth.

“I mean, it’s basically corn, so you’re probably fine,” Grantaire had replied. Eponine had nodded, considering his answer. They were both ignoring the movie at this point; it was _Titanic,_ and they had both already seen it multiple times. Seemingly out of the blue, she had changed the subject.

“You know about Marius, right?” Grantaire had rolled his eyes. Who in a fifty-mile radius _didn’t_ know about Marius, the love of Eponine’s life? He had heard her rant about Marius enough times to write a paper on the guy, and he had never even met him. Eponine had quickly seemed to realize the stupidity of her question.

“Right, of course you have. So he’s in this social justice club that he was telling me about, and I thought it would be really cool if I went? Because we could bond and stuff? So I was like, yeah, okay, sounds pretty legit, but I literally know _nobody_ in that club except for Marius, and I obviously don’t want to seem like a loser with no friends, and so I was wondering-”

“-if I would join it with you?” Eponine had nodded, looking at him pleadingly. Grantaire had sighed, and ran a hand through his curls. He could never say no to Eponine, not when she asked him like this. He slowly nodded. Eponine grinned at him.

“Thanks R. I promise it’ll be fun. You only have to go to the one meeting if you want, I can probably do just fine on my own after that.” Grantaire had nodded, and went back to watching the movie.

On Monday, Eponine had come running up to him after school. She had grabbed him by the hand and practically yanked his arm out of its socket as she dragged him down the hallway, ignoring Grantaire's protests of “Where the hell are we going?” and “Ep, you can’t just _kidnap_ me, I need to at least get into college.” Eponine had stopped outside of a classroom, gave him a brilliant smile, and walked inside, tugging him gently behind her like she hadn’t been about to break his arm only seconds before.

 

This was how he had wound up sitting in Social Justice Club (which had a name, but one Grantaire couldn’t remember at the moment) staring almost obscenely as a incredibly hot guy rants to him about the rules and information about the club. Hot Guy has blond curls that catch the light from the window, and Grantaire finds himself wondering what it would be like to run his fingers through them, pull him closer to kiss him-

“-and so that’s basically the gist of it,” Hot Guy says with a sense of finality, and Grantaire hasn't heard any of his speech, but he smiles like he had. It was a well-used smile, used on teachers and fellow students alike, and it had gotten him through almost all of high school. Hot Guy holds out his hand, and Grantaire stares at it for a second as if it was a foreign object he has yet to lay eyes on. He then realized that Hot Guy wanted to shake hands with him. He tentatively places his hand into Hot Guy’s, not wanting to crush his delicate fingers. Hot Guy shakes back with a firm, practiced grip, and _god,_ Grantaire should not be as hopelessly in love as he feels, not when he doesn't even know his name. _That’s a good conversation starter,_ Grantaire thinks.

“Hey, so, um, what’s your name? I’m Grantaire,” Grantaire says in what he hopes is a nonchalant tone.

“I’m Enjolras,” Hot Guy says, smiling slightly, though Grantaire cannot for the life of him figure out why. Grantaire _really_ does not want the conversation to end, but then Hot Guy is pulling his hand from Grantaire’s (god, had Grantaire still been gripping it?) and walking to the front of the room. The chatter that had been filling the air dies down as everyone comes to attention. Eponine stops talking somewhat belatedly, and Grantaire notices that she has seated herself next to a guy with light brown hair, who looks slightly intimidated by her presence. _Ah, so_ this _is the famous Marius,_ Grantaire thinks.

“As some of you may have noticed, we have two new members today, Grantaire and Eponine,” Hot Guy- _Enjolras-_ says, addressing the room. “Can everyone maybe introduce themselves, maybe say one of those fun facts about yourself teachers make you say on the first day of school? Jehan, you start.” Enjolras gestures to a skinny boy with a flowers tucked in among his long braid.

“I’m Jehan, as Enjolras just said, and I love to write.” Jehan gives him a glowing smile, and then they move on.

“I’m Courfeyrac!” says a boy with dark curly hair and a hot-pink button down he hanging loose over his black skinny jeans. “Um, I don’t know what to say… Enjy, the fun fact icebreaker thingy was kind of a dumb idea, can we just say our names?” Enjolras scowls from his position at the front of the room, and shakes his head. The fun fact seems to be non-negotiable. “Fine. Um, so, I’m Courfeyrac, as I said like two seconds ago, and my favorite movie is probably _Mean Girls._ ” Grantaire gives a hesitant smile to him.

“I’m Combeferre,” says a boy with thick glasses. “And I’m going to have to just copy Courf here and say my favorite movie, which is _Citizen Kane._ ”

Things progress pretty normally from here. Aside from Enjolras, Jehan, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre, there is Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, Marius, Cosette, Feuilly, and Bahorel. Grantaire waves to them all, and tries desperately to store their names and faces somewhere safe in his brain.

Enjolras then starts off the meeting by reading the agenda for the day, and then sitting down in a chair at the head of the table- a position that seats him _right next_ to Grantaire, and holy _shit,_ this is not fair at all. How is Grantaire supposed to concentrate with Enjolras _right there_ looking like a gorgeous marble statue? Enjolras goes around the table asking people what issues they want to address now that it’s the second semester. Apparently they refocus every quarter, though Grantaire can’t see the point in that. How can you make a difference if you only have three months to do it?

Grantaire tries to listen to what people are saying, he really does, but it’s so difficult when this _god_ is only a few feet away from him. His fingers itch for his sketchbook, he’s anxious to sketch this, sketch Enjolras’s regal profile, his sharp cheekbones and almost feminine lips, and his _eyes,_ bright blue, filled with righteous passion. He reminds Grantaire of Apollo, almost. He seems like he has the power and light of the sun glowing deep inside him, something that can’t be suppressed. Grantaire tears his eyes away long enough to register that Bahorel is saying something about fighting against cyberbullying, a campaign being widely ignored, but a definite problem. _Shit._ His turn is next, and he has literally nothing he wants to say. Hell, he only came here because Eponine made him. Bahorel finishes up, and Enjolras turns to Grantaire.

“Grantaire, I know you’re new here so you may not really know yet, but why did you join? What changes do you want to make to better our world?” Grantaire forces himself to look away so he doesn't get lost in Enjolras’s eyes, and looks at the table in front of him before answering.

“Well, um, I didn’t originally _plan_ to join this club, it kind of just happened… But honestly?” He pauses a bit before continuing, not sure how to correctly phrase this to avoid angering Enjolras. “I think it’s all kind of futile. I mean, people are _always_ going to be close minded idiots, and there are some things that we just can’t change. The effort is nice, it really is. It shows that somebody actually cares, you know? But it’s a waste. The bigots in our world aren’t just going to change their minds because we held up signs and gave speeches. People will always hate on others, it’s human nature. We can’t change that. It’s great that you guys are trying, it really is. But it won’t work.” He looks up. Everyone looks shell-shocked. None of them are looking at him, however. They’re all looking at Enjolras, seemingly afraid. He slowly turns to face Enjolras as well, smiling apologetically. “Sorry for being so blunt, but it’s what I think,” he says, trying to somewhat soften the blow. His words don’t seem to do much good. Enjolras looks livid.

“How can you even _say_ that,” he begins. His face is red, and his hands are clenched by his sides. “How can you say that, when we go to school _here?_ We live in the most close-minded, redneck neighborhood I’ve ever heard of. The administration here doesn't care about half of its students. If you’re gay, or lesbian, or bi, or transgender, or questioning, or anything else, and really want to talk about it with someone- _guess what?_ You can’t. Because once word gets out, and believe me, it will, the whole school will bully you, attack you verbally and physically until you _literally_ do not feel like your life on this earth means anything at all. Until you just want to go to sleep and never wake up. And that isn't okay.” Enjolras looks like he’s only beginning.

"Last year, three students committed suicide. _Three._ Two of them were seniors. They had gotten accepted into college already, one of them had gotten a huge scholarship. Their entire _lives_ were laid out before them. The other one was a freshman. He was only fourteen. _Fourteen._ He had barely even _started_ high school. Do you know why they did it? Because other students here made them feel like the world would be better off without them. Other students that still walk these halls teased them and tormented them and harassed them until they felt that the easiest way out would be  _to take their own lives._ Do you know what the school did in response to this? They had an assembly. That's it. A one-hour assembly to remember the lives that were lost and discuss bullying. That's  _it._ They- they didn't even  _care._ " Enjolras takes a deep breath, steadying himself. He seems like he's on the verge of tears. But when he opens his mouth again, his voice is like steel. 

“Our nation is a nation founded on immigrants, and on the belief that everyone is created equal. So why is it that Combeferre is made fun of for being Iranian, called racist slurs behind his back, and to his face? The administration ignores everything. It thinks that if it does nothing, the problems will just fade away. It doesn't think people care. And for the most part, people don’t. People don’t care because it doesn’t impact them and their lives, and they live inside a selfish little bubble, only caring about new trends on Instagram or Snapchat or the latest album from Cardi B. But if we show that people care, that people actually _want things to change,_ they we actually have a shot at helping people who are too afraid to stand up for themselves. Helping people who are too afraid to come to school because they are being harassed and hurt and made to believe that they are lesser than someone else just because of their ethnicity or their origin or their gender or their sexuality or whatever else people use to make someone feel inferior to them. _That’s_ what we’re trying to do, Grantaire. We want to help people.” Enjolras is breathing hard. HIs face is flushed, and his eyes are alight with something Grantaire can’t quite place. Grantaire tries to resist, he really does. But the words are out before he can stop it.

“Yeah? And how’s that been going for you so far?” Enjolras looks like he wants to give a retort, but Grantaire isn’t done. “I’m bi. I don’t care who knows, so don’t freak out. But when I was a freshman, I told someone who I thought was one of my friends. I was taunted, my locker was defaced, and I came home with a black eye more times than I can count. And do you know what? I went to the administration. I told them exactly what was happening and the people who were doing it. I made a fucking _list_ , and printed it out and gave it to them so that they could have it on record. I even emailed it to them so they could have an online copy too. And do you know what happened? Absolutely nothing. Nothing changed. I told my mom, and she called the school, and they said that they would put stricter measures into place and get teachers to patrol the main hallways so they could see what was happening. They never did. So I hate to break it to you, but I’ve already tried the exact thing you’re doing. And you see how well that went.” Enjolras looks even more determined than ever.

"We need people to help us. I know that, and you know that, and everyone here knows that. But we can't _get_ people to help us if we don't even _try_ to make them see that our school is a place where half of the students don't feel safe. We need to be the spark that ignites the fire that starts the revolution. We're young, but we can make a change. We have that power."

"Oh, that's _rich,"_ Grantaire snorts. He can't help it. He doesn't mean for it to sound this cruel, but he can't stop talking. It's like every single thought he's had since freshman year comes flooding out in a tidal wave of hopelessness and despair. "You're calling yourselves a _revolution?_ You don't even have fifteen people here. I hate to break it to you, but you need more people. And even then, what will happen? You'll fight and fight and fight, and you'll be silenced again and again and again. You've already lost the war, why keep fighting? It's just a waste."

“But don’t you see? That’s _exactly_ why we need to keep fighting. If we fight for long enough, there's a point where we can’t be silenced anymore. If we make it impossible to ignore us, they _have_ to give in. If we get enough students to see that this is _wrong,_ then we can make a change. It will work. It _has to_ work. Everyone has good in them somewhere, everyone is capable of change.” Grantaire laughs ruefully, shaking his head.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but some people are broken beyond repair.” Grantaire doesn’t mean to sound so bitter as he says it, but he does. Enjolras’s expression becomes softer for a second, and he opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but the he glances at his watch.

“Crap. Okay everyone, it’s quarter past four. Sorry for running late. Grab your stuff." People are whispering, shooting glances at Grantaire. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta leave the room together, glancing back at Grantaire as they do so. Jehan, Bahorel and Feuilly are whispering feverishly to Combeferre and Courfeyrac as they pull on their jackets. Even Marius, Eponine, and Cosette are looking at him. Apparently something like this is actually able to make its way through the bubble that's seemed to surround them for the duration of the meeting. And then there's Enjolras, pulling on a red jacket in the front of the room. He looks calmer, but his eyes are still angry, and his jaw is still set stubbornly. Fuck it. Grantaire's ditching Eponine. Let them all talk about him. He just wants to go home.

He tries to make his way to the door, but Enjolras blocks his way. There's no getting around him without making it even more awkward than it already is, so Grantaire just sighs and prepares himself for the onslaught.

“Grantaire- I’m sorry for everything you went through. But I would have thought that going through something like that would have made you _more_ aware of how backwards our school is. Don’t you want to help other people so they don’t have to go through the same crap you did?” Of course. After all of this, after _everything_ he just said, Enjolras is still finding some way to see the best in Grantaire. Somehow, he thinks Grantaire is something more than a cynic who will go on to do absolutely nothing of importance in life.

“The only thing it’s made me see how backwards society is as a whole. And it’s also made me see how little there is I can do to change that. It sucks that people are going to have to go through the same shit as me, but I literally have no control over it, and I don’t want to pretend that I do.” He glances around, looking for Eponine. He was going to ditch her, but now she's going to be his way out of this situation. “Sorry to end this conversation so abruptly, but I need to go. I’m giving Eponine a ride home.”

“Then why did you even come?” The question takes Grantaire by surprise.

“I told you,” he says. “Eponine made me.”

“All you did was question everything we stand for. If you really believe in nothing, then you shouldn’t be here.” His words hurt, but Grantaire doesn’t want to admit it.

“I believe in you.” Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“If you believed in me, then you would believe in what we’re trying to achieve.” With that, he’s gone, out the classroom door and down the hall before Grantaire has a chance to properly formulate a response. Wow. You know things are bad when even Enjolras thinks you're a lost cause.

This is great. Absolutely fantastic. He’s blown whatever slim chance he had with this golden god by calling him out on the beliefs that he holds closest to his heart. He buries his head in his hands, resisting the urge to scream. He’s so _frustrated._ Frustrated with Enjolras for his stupid idealistic belief in everyone, frustrated with Eponine for making him join this stupid club in the first place just so she can talk to some guy, and frustrated with himself most of all. Why does he screw _everything_ up? He can’t even manage joining a club like a normal person. A normal person would have sat quietly, listened politely, aware that this was their first meeting, and wanting to make a good first impression. They wouldn’t have gotten into an argument with the leader of the club. They wouldn’t have forced the leader of the club, who is way too hot for his own good, to confront them when the meeting was over and ask why they even bothered to _come_ to the meeting. It’s clear that Enjolras doesn’t want him there, and that’s fine with him. He doesn’t want to be there either.

Eponine is fawning over Marius in the corner, who still looks mildly frightened. Cosette is glowering at her, arms crossed across her chest. Grantaire sighs. He’s about to go over there and pull her away to his car so he can just go home and _sleep,_ but he’s pushed back down into his chair. Courfeyrac seats himself next to Grantaire, grinning.

“So,” he says. “So, so, _so…”_ Grantaire doesn’t know Courfeyrac, but he can sense that this is a conversation he does not want to have.

"That was ballsy! Challenging Enjolras in front of everyone like that. Honestly, I was scared for your life. I still kinda am. But! There's something else." Grantaire groans inwardly. He knows what's coming. He must have been so obvious, blatantly ogling Enjolras for the first half hour of the meeting.

“You, my friend,” Courfeyrac says, poking Grantaire in the chest. “You have got a thing for Enj! Don’t try to deny it,” he adds, seeing the look on Grantaire’s face. “It was _so_ obvious. To everyone except for Enjolras.”

“It really was quite painful,” Combeferre adds. He’s taken a seat across from Grantaire, and he’s grinning too.

“I’m not saying you don’t have a shot,” Courfeyrac goes on. “Because you do. Enjolras is gay. But, come on, there has _got_ to be a better way to flirt then insulting everything he stands for barely half an hour after meeting him.” Grantaire laughs slightly. There’s no use denying it now.

“I suppose there should be,” he says. Courfeyrac’s grin gets wider.

“Oh my gosh, Ferre, I _knew_ it! I called it! Didn’t I?! I called it like five minutes in, oh my gosh, I’m amazing. I think I might be psychic.” Combeferre rolls his eyes fondly.

“Yes, you called it. Kudos to you. But Grantaire wasn’t being that subtle about it, to be fair. Even Marius probably noticed.” Grantaire blushes. It should be weird, almost complete strangers talking to him about his crush on this guy. But it somehow feels totally natural, like he’s done it all before in a previous life. He wonders if he’s been as annoying to Enjolras in past lives as he is now. He probably has.

“Okay, Grantaire,” Courfeyrac says, pulling out his phone. “I need to add you to the Les Amis group chat! Enjolras is on it...” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“God Courf, don’t subject him to that. That chat is 90% gifs from _Mean Girls_ and 10% Enjolras ranting about some Supreme Court case from two decades ago. I don’t understand its existence.” Courfeyrac shakes his head.

“Nope, it needs to be done. If he’s going to be a member, then he needs to be in the group chat. What’s Eponine’s number? I’ll add her too.” Grantaire unlocks his phone, and hands it to Courfeyrac.

“I’m actually… Enjolras seems like he doesn’t really want me here. I might just not go to any more meetings.” Courfeyrac looks horrified.

“No! You can’t do that! I’ve wanted to matchmake the perfect couple for my _entire_ high school career, and you are _not_ ruining it by leaving! You and Enjolras could actually be a thing. If, you know, you stop trashing his ideals in front of everyone he cares about.” He finishes programming the numbers in with a flourish, and hands Grantaire’s phone back to him. Grantaire looks to Combeferre for help. He seems to be the voice of reason, but he only shrugs.

“He _has_ wanted to matchmake for a while,” he says. “Just let him get it out of his system. Who knows, it might actually work.”

“It _will_ work Ferre, I’ll bet you on that.”

“Oh yeah?” Combeferre says, grinning. “How much money can you possibly have after our _last_ bet?” Courfeyrac goes red.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, and turns back to Grantaire. “Anyway, _please_ stay in the club. _Please._ It’s fun, I promise. Plus, sometimes Joly bakes cookies! They’re super good.” Grantaire sighs. He knows he won’t be able to say no to Courfeyrac. He’s to enthusiastic for his own good, and Grantaire just does not have the kind of energy needed to deal with that today.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh. Courfeyrac squeals, and hugs him.

“I promise it’ll be worth your while,” he says with a huge smile on his face. Grantaire can’t help it; he smiles back.

 

As he and Eponine drive to Eponine’s apartment, Grantaire can’t help running the conversation through in his mind. Courfeyrac said that he could help him. He sees something there, something that he can transform into an _actual thing,_ something where Enjolras and Grantaire can end up… He shakes his head suddenly. _No. It probably won’t work, and even if it does, he’s too good for you. You’re not worth it. You can never be worth it. This god will never feel the same way towards you as you do towards him._

Eponine startles him out of his thoughts.

“So, I'm going to assume you want to avoid the obvious topic of _what the fuck was that,_ " Eponine begins. Grantaire nods gratefully. Eponine always knows what topics to avoid. She continues. "You seemed to be pretty hung up on Enjolras there, hmm?” she asks, a coy smile playing at the corners of her lips. Grantaire takes it back. Eponine definitely does _not_ know what subjects Grantaire would rather spend nineteen years in prison for then talk about. She's still looking at him, and Grantaire blushes, which is all the answer she needs.

“I knew it!” she practically shrieks. She turns in her seat and starts poking him. “You’re in loooove!” Grantaire shifts further away from her, laughing.

“Don’t do that, we could get into an accident,” he says. Eponine rolls her eyes.

“Tell me everything you like about him,” she says. Grantaire frowns for a second. It’s a difficult question. Even though he’s only met him this afternoon, Grantaire feels like he’s seen so much of his personality and learned so much about him in only an hour.

“Well… he’s super hot. Like, that hair- _oh my god._ I could just _die._ And did you see his eyes? Holy _shit_ Ep, I kid you not, they were _glowing_ . So, like, he’s hot and all, but the complete _conviction_ that he speaks with… Like, he _knows_ that he’s right, and he’s just so passionate about it! You can tell he actually cares about what he’s talking about, he’s not just saying meaningless words. He’s just… he’s a force of nature.” He finishes, and Eponine is looking at him, slightly shocked.

“Um, who are you and what have you done with Grantaire? Seriously, R, that was the literal sweetest thing I’ve ever heard! And did you see! Marius spent almost _the whole meeting_ talking to me. Maybe he’ll break up with Cosette! And then we’ll fall in love and get married and have little babies and you and Enjolras can be the godparents and we’ll all have brunch every Sunday.”

“And here I thought you were just happy for me, but no, it’s all about Marius as usual.” Grantaire says it jokingly, and Eponine laughs. The atmosphere is happy, but it changes abruptly when they pull up to Eponine’s apartment complex.

It’s a gray building with dirty windows and peeling paint on the door. Half the plants that line the front walk are dead or dying, and nobody knows the exact address of the building. It’s either fifty or fifty-two, but who can really tell?

The smile vanishes from Eponine’s face as she grabs her bag and climbs out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride R,” she says flatly, and begins to walk to the front door of the building.

“Eponine-” Grantaire starts. She turns around. “You know you can always stay with me, right? Like, if you need to or anything. Azelma and Gavroche too.” She smiles. It’s a tiny smile, but it reaches her eyes.

“Thanks,” she says. “Seriously.” She turns around and continues walking. Grantaire looks after her for a moment and then drives away.

 

Later that night, after a dinner of Kraft mac’n’cheese (his parents aren’t home yet, and Grantaire can’t cook anything else), Grantaire thinks about Enjolras. Despite what he said to Courfeyrac, he still isn’t sure that he wants to go to another meeting. Enjolras obviously hates him, and he doesn’t believe in any of their causes. But what he said to Enjolras was true. He _does_ believe in Enjolras, believes in him more than Enjolras can know. Enjolras can and will change the world, of that Grantaire is sure.

And it’s because of that, that belief, that Grantaire decides that he will go to the next meeting. It couldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave comments and kudos, they are my life!!! This fic should have about 10-12 chapters, and I will be updating about every week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” Combeferre says. “You did better today. Enjolras enjoys arguing, just not about all of his passions at once. It may not seem like it, but I think you’re growing on him.”  
> “That’s the type of thing you say about a dog,” Grantaire replies. Combeferre snorts.  
> “Yeah, I guess.”

Grantaire props his feet up on the table, relishing the silence around him. He’s arrived for the next meeting an hour early, skipping Math to come to the empty classroom. The Social Justice Club met in the smaller of the two art rooms, which was almost never used. He’s sketching, but it’s not a picture of his surroundings like it normally is when he’s alone. It’s a picture of Enjolras, radiant, beautiful Enjolras. It’s all he’s been able to draw for the past few days. His pencil has become familiar with it by now, marking the curves and angles of Enjolras onto the paper before him, so he barely has to think about it. 

It’s nice, drawing alone. He hasn’t done it for a while. He feels like he’s always with someone when inspiration strikes, and he rarely acts on it. He doesn’t want to seem rude, to retreat into his own little world when there is someone he was talking to  _ right there,  _ so he vows that he’ll remember what it was that transfixed him so much later that day and draw it then. He never remembers. 

He’s startled from his reverie when the door flies open, and chatter streams into the room. It appears as though the bell has just rang, though Grantaire hadn’t noticed. Enjolras steps through the door, his face going from surprise to confusion to annoyance when he sees Grantaire sitting there, tilted back in his chair with his feet on the table. Grantaire sets the front chair legs on the ground, and stands up to face Enjolras. He had thought for a while before coming to this meeting. In fact, the only reason he had been here an hour early was because he knew that if he waited any longer, he’d chicken out. But he feels like he needs to go. For reasons he can’t explain, he feels like it’s a part of him. And, strange as it is, he actually feels himself vying for Enjolras’s approval. It’s a foreign sensation, one he hasn’t felt in years. He’s never actually cared enough about what other people think about him, but... he wants to prove Enjolras wrong. He wants to show that there are other parts to him, not just the useless cynic that everyone sees. 

Enjolras walks towards him and stands so that they are facing each other on either side of the table. 

“Why are you here, Grantaire?” he asks, and his voice is indignant. His eyes are annoyed, but behind it there’s a glimpse of something Grantaire can’t quite see. 

“Well, Enjolras, you see, when a man and a woman love each other very much-,” he’s cut off by Enjolras sighing. He thinks he sees the ghost of a smile, but it’s gone before Grantaire can double check. 

“What about last time,” he says, and it’s not a question; it’s a statement. Grantaire knew that this confrontation would have to happen at some point, but he is still in no way prepared to answer this question. Last time was when Grantaire felt as though all of the weight he had accumulated on his chest since freshman year had finally started to ease. True, he had hurt Enjolras, though he wouldn’t admit it, but he had also freed some part of himself. He had felt… better since then. He didn’t know if it was Enjolras or the venting that had caused him to feel like this, but he knew that he wanted to stay like this, however long he could. 

“Last time wasn’t me. It was my evil twin.” Enjolras is growing more and more annoyed. 

“Grantaire, please be serious. You said you were bullied. What… what did they do to you?”

“Enjolras… you don’t really know me yet, but I’m going to make it easier for you. I’m never serious. I’m too fucking wild.” Enjolras looks as though he is unsure of how to respond to this comment, so he says nothing. Grantaire doesn’t like this silence. It’s awkward, and tense in a way that makes it seem as though a bomb could explode at any moment. 

“What are we discussing in today’s meeting, oh fearless leader of mine?” he asks, batting his eyelashes. Enjolras ignores this, and pulls out a thick, bright red notebook with papers practically falling out of it. He opens it and flips to the latest in a series of hastily scrawled pages. Grantaire would have thought that Enjolras’s handwriting would be neat and precise, carefully written and stored. Apparently Enjolras cared too much about saving the world to waste time on mundane things such as organization. 

“We are discussing gun control and its impacts on schools across the nation,” he says. Grantaire nods.

“Tell me your arguments,” he says. Enjolras looks confused.

“What?”

“Tell me your arguments,” he repeats. “What’s your stance? Give me evidence. Convince me. If you can convince  _ me _ , you can convince anyone.” Enjolras nods, but doesn’t seem to quite know where to start. Grantaire decides to help him.

“Well, the Second Amendment says-” Bingo. When he mentions the Second Amendment, Enjolras’s eyes alight with passion, and he interrupts Grantaire. Grantaire seats himself on the table and gets comfortable. He senses that he’ll be here for a while. 

“The Second Amendment was intended to protect the right of militias to own guns, not the right of normal citizens. That’s why they use the phrase ‘well regulated militia’  _ in the amendment!  _ There is absolutely  _ nothing  _ in there that talks about the right of everyday people in our society being able to own guns, and nobody realizes this! Nobody realizes that  _ even colonial America  _ had gun control. People would go door-to-door and mark whether or not you owned a gun. If keeping the laws of colonial America are  _ so important,  _ then gun control should be the norm. We shouldn’t use this amendment as an excuse for some racist, homophobic KKK member to have a gun in his house just because nobody has the guts to contradict him on his opinion!” Members of the Les Amis have begun to file in, and have started drawing up chairs around where Enjolras and Grantaire are arguing. Enjolras doesn’t seem to notice.

“The constitution was written in a time when slavery still existed, when people still thought slavery was okay. So should we still even be listening to this two hundred and fifty year old document that people argue says guns are all well and good and everyone should have the right to own one? Back then, the only thing people had to worry about were handguns and muskets. They had  _ no way  _ of knowing what the world would be like in a couple centuries! They had no way of knowing how easy it is to murder someone, what kind of guns we have at our disposal. How were they supposed to forsee the creation of an AK-47, or an AR-15? If adhering to the past was really so important to us and not just an excuse for people to keep their  _ precious  _ guns with them, then slavery would probably still exist.” Grantaire interrupts. He’s enjoying this, watching Enjolras yell about something he cares about. His eyes- those  _ fucking eyes _ , they’ll be the death of him- are blazing, and he’s gesticulating wildly and he has such a burning intensity about him, Grantaire can’t bring himself to look away. He almost glows. 

“If I have a gun, it’s not going to just go off by itself. Someone has to pull the trigger with the intent of hurting someone. How is this the fault of the gun, not the fault of the person? Guns don’t kill people, people kill people,” he says, quoting the NRA supporters. Enjolras looks like he wants to throttle Grantaire. His hands are clenching and unclenching seemingly involuntarily by his side, and Grantaire wants to draw him right now, red-faced and fiery, burning with the passion of a revolutionary. 

“That’s basically the equivalent of Kim Jong Un saying that nukes don’t kill people, people kill people!” Enjolras laughs humorlessly. “Don’t sidestep the debate. Nobody cares if a gun can or can not spontaneously explode on its own. The issue here is that guns make it  _ so easy  _ to kill people, and people are just  _ letting it happen.  _ You don’t need to know how to use a gun to kill people, and that just makes it even more horrifying. Yes, people kill people, but guns make it easier. The United States has a rate of about 3.12 deaths per 100,000 people. This is the highest rate of industrialized countries. We also happen to have the highest rate of gun ownership, with 88 out of 100 people owning guns. Do you maybe happen to see the correlation between these two facts? Using the people kill people argument is basically saying that whoever is working behind a nuclear bomb or F16 is the killer. Let’s go with that. But don’t you see that the government actually decides to limit the access people have to weapons like this? They do this because these can kill countless people in a matter of seconds. Well,  _ so can a gun. _ ” 

The rest of the meeting goes pretty much like this. Grantaire keeps bringing up dumber and dumber arguments, until even Enjolras realises that he’s just doing it to get a reaction. By that time, the meeting is mostly over. Courfeyrac has been videoing the whole thing, and he finally puts away his phone and walks up to Grantaire. 

“That was great,” he says with a laugh. “I’m totally posting that on our website. It’s absolutely perfect.” Grantaire smiles. He’s surprisingly worn out considering that he barely even talked. Just listening to Enjolras tired him out. How can one person have that much conviction and passion inside of them? It must be exhausting. 

Everyone is packing up, and Grantaire looks over to where Eponine is. She’s supposed to be giving him a ride, his car is in the shop, but she doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave. She’s sitting on a table next to Marius, so close that she’s practically in his lap, and thank god Cosette is out sick today, because she would most definitely be fuming if she saw this. Grantaire knows that she’ll never pay attention to him when Marius is there, so he sighs and pulls out his phone to check the bus schedule. The next bus isn’t until five. He doesn’t know what will be faster, the next bus or waiting for Eponine to stop her attempts at seducing Marius. He decides to wait it out, sliding down in his chair. His plan to take a nap is rudely interrupted when Combeferre walks up to him and sits down next to him.

“Hey,” Combeferre says. “You did better today. Enjolras enjoys arguing, just not about all of his passions at once. It may not seem like it, but I think you’re growing on him.”

“That’s the type of thing you say about a dog,” Grantaire replies. Combeferre snorts. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Combeferre looks like he’s about to say something else, when Courfeyrac practically skips over. He’s wearing another fluorescent button down, only this one is blue. You’d think that it would be difficult to make all these neons work, but Courfeyrac pulls it off seamlessly. To be honest, Courfeyrac could probably wear a trash bag and make it look like the latest thing in Paris.

“Grantaire!” he practically sings, as he flops into an adjacent chair, laying his head on Combeferre’s shoulder dramatically. Grantaire rolls his eyes. He knows that Courfeyrac is a die-hard theatre kid, but does he have to be so damn  _ stereotypical _ about it? He’s so affectionate with everyone, and so energetic all the time. Grantaire doesn’t understand how everyone in this club can have so much  _ energy,  _ and how some of the calmer people, like Combeferre, haven’t yet acted upon the urge to throttle Courfeyrac or Enjolras.

However, looking at Combeferre’s face as he gazes down at Courfeyrac’s mass of dark curls on his shoulder, he thinks maybe it makes a little more sense now. Courfeyrac speaks from his position, snuggling closer to Combeferre. Combeferre looks like a tomato, and Grantaire has to stop himself from snickering. 

“I think we should go out for coffee,” Courfeyrac says. Combeferre’s head snaps up, and he fixes Grantaire with a cold stare. Grantaire is surprised too, but knowing Courfeyrac, it probably doesn’t mean what he thinks it means. 

“Um, care to clarify?” he asks hesitantly. Courfeyrac lifts his head, sees the confused look on Combeferre and Grantaire’s faces, and begins to laugh. 

“No- oh my  _ god,  _ no, no offense Grantaire- I meant with Ferre and me! We’re going for coffee on Saturday with Jehan. Wanna come?” Combeferre’s face relaxes, and he flashes Grantaire an apologetic look. 

“Yeah, Grantaire, you should definitely come. It’ll be fun.” Combeferre pulls out his phone. “Oh, Courf we should probably go. I’m giving you a ride right?” Courfeyrac nods, and waves to Grantaire before allowing Combeferre to pull him to his feet and tug him out the door. Grantaire closes his eyes and prepares for a nap, but he is startled awake yet again by another voice. 

“Grantaire?”

“ _ What? _ ” he snaps. He opens his eyes to see Enjolras standing over him. “Oh. Hey Apollo. Come to lecture me on my cynicism and lack of beliefs again?” Enjolras fiddles with the strap of his messenger bag in a way that makes him look almost unsure.

“No, actually. I came to see if you wanted a ride, since you don’t seem to be going anywhere.” He looks over at Eponine meaningfully. 

“Oh,” Grantaire says, turning to look at Eponine. She’s still talking to Marius, and Grantaire decides to give in. “Yeah, sure. Thanks. My car’s getting repaired.” He stands up and grabs his bookbag. Enjolras nods and waits while Grantaire fumbles with the zipper, stuffing his sketchbook into the backpack’s front pocket. He hoists it onto his shoulder and follows Enjolras out through the door. 

There is silence hanging between them as they walk down the empty hallway, their steps echoing. Grantaire looks at the rows and rows of lockers, looks at the scuffed tile floor, looks anywhere but at Enjolras. Enjolras seems to be doing the opposite. He’s studying Grantaire, a calculating look in his eye. Grantaire glances at him, and Enjolras looks away. 

They reach the parking lot, and Enjolras takes out his keys, unlocking his car. The taillights of a bright red Prius flash from a parking spot a few feet away. Enjolras holds open the passenger door for Grantaire, and Grantaire does a fake curtsey before sliding into the leather seat, dropping his backpack on the carpeted floor. 

Enjolras slides in next to him, and turns on the ignition. The car rumbles to life, and they are out of the parking lot before Enjolras begins to talk. Grantaire is surprised. He didn’t think Enjolras could last this long without saying a word. 

“Where do you live?”

“Oh Enjy, it’s not even the third date,” Grantaire bats his eyelashes, pushing a wayward curl behind his ear. Enjolras rolls his eyes. It’s something he does a lot around Grantaire.

“I’m driving you home. It seems like I should know your address, don’t you think?” That’s a good point. Grantaire hadn’t realized that. He tells Enjolras his address, and they sit in silence for a few more seconds.

“Do you mind if I put on some music? I have a new CD in that I kind of wanted to start. We can turn it off if you don’t like it,” Enjolras hastens to add, and Grantaire shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. Music would be great, actually.” Enjolras switches on the CD player, and the opening notes of “I Will Follow You Into The Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie start to play. Grantaire swivels to Enjolras so fast that Enjolras looks alarmed.

“Are you okay?”

“I  _ love  _ Death Cab for Cutie! Actually, this is my favorite of their songs. I can’t believe you like it too. I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type.” Enjolras smiles slightly.

“What would you say my type is?” he asks. Grantaire strokes an imaginary beard as he looks at Enjolras. 

“Classical,” he decides after a moment. “Beethoven and Bach and Mozart.” Enjolras looks at him with raised eyebrows. Grantaire stifles a snort at his comical expression. “Just because it’s classical doesn’t mean it’s bad,” he says. “Mozart  _ was  _ crazy, after all. Flat fucking crazy. He’s interesting. I just can’t picture you singing along to music, you know?” And since Enjolras seems desperate to prove Grantaire wrong in just about everything, he begins to sing along to the song. 

He’s absolutely terrible. He has no concept of pitch, and only a faint sense of rhythm, but it’s  _ Enjolras singing  _ and Grantaire is captivated. He joins in on the final chorus, and they finish with a long, drawn-out note. Enjolras laughs slightly and all Grantaire can think is  _ oh my gosh, I just made Enjolras laugh oh my gosh oh my gosh. _

“You have a nice voice,” Enjolras says.

“You don’t,” Grantaire responds, and mentally slaps himself. It had just started to seem like he had actually started  _ getting  _ somewhere with this strange friendship with Enjolras. To his surprise, Enjolras laughs again, and it’s like a ray of sunlight.    
“I know,” he responds. “When I was about seven, I wanted to take singing lessons. The voice teacher heard me sing one time, and after about five minutes, he told my dad that he thought ‘I could find my calling elsewhere,’” Enjolras makes finger quotes around the words, and Grantaire laughs.

“Oh my  _ god _ , I cannot for the life of me imagine  _ you  _ of all people taking singing lessons. You’d probably rebel against the sexism of the songs the teacher taught you, or something.” Enjolras laughs  _ again,  _ and wow, Grantaire is really on a roll here. Enjolras seems a lot more relaxed when he’s outside of the school. His voice sounds less clipped, and flows better, and it seems as if an invisible weight disappears from his shoulders. He supposes it has something to do with the Les Amis. All of that passion and courage  _ does  _ tire Enjolras out, he realizes. He just doesn’t give up. Even a tired Enjolras can still overthrow a government or two. 

The conversation has ceased, and that atmosphere of the car is back to being awkward again. Grantaire desperately wants the conversation to keep going, wants to learn more about Enjolras. He wants to make him laugh again. He casts around for something else to say. 

“Tell me something else I don’t know about you,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras hums thoughtfully for a moment, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. 

“On my first day of kindergarten, I led a rebellion to have a longer recess. The school called my parents eventually, since I had been outside all day without a jacket. It was that cold year- remember? It was like forty degrees in September, it was ridiculous. But I refused to go inside. I almost got pneumonia.” 

“That does not surprise me in the least,” Grantaire fakes a yawn. “I’m practically falling asleep over how predictable that was.” Enjolras looks at him, a challenge in his eyes.

“Okay, fine then. If you think you can do better, tell me something I don’t know about you.” Grantaire thinks for a moment, then settles on something.

“When I was nine, I was riding my bike, and I found a squirrel. It was foaming at the mouth, and I felt bad for it, so I put in my hoodie pocket and took it home. I showed my parents and asked if we could keep it. Obviously they were horrified.” Enjolras is laughing so hard Grantaire is worried they might get into an accident.

“Oh my  _ god,  _ Grantaire, you could’ve gotten bitten, you could’ve gotten  _ rabies,  _ oh my god you took it  _ home… _ ” Grantaire is laughing too. Seeing Enjolras so happy makes Grantaire happy. He knows it’s too good to last though, and sure enough, they’ve reached Grantaire’s street. Grantaire points out his house, and Enjolras pulls into the driveway. Grantaire’s parents aren’t home yet, no surprise there, so he fishes around in his pocket for a key, holding it up triumphantly when he finds it.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says to Enjolras, hating how formal it sounds, hating how the mood in the car has changed so drastically now that Grantaire is home. This is probably the closest thing he’ll ever get to a real relationship with Enjolras, friendship or otherwise, and he wishes it could last longer. 

“Anytime,” Enjolras replies, and it could just be Grantaire’s imagination, but it looks like Enjolras wishes that too. Grantaire climbs out of Enjolras's car and closes the door. He waves to Enjolras as he backs out of the driveway, and Enjolras waves back, a slight smile on his face. Grantaire watches him drive away until he can no longer see him, and then turns around to head inside. 

 

Grantaire is woken up at about 2 AM by an insistent buzzing. He fumbles groggily on the table by his bed for his phone, glancing at it through a haze of sleep. It’s texts from the Les Amis group chat, about fifteen of them. They’re all from Courfeyrac, and include way too many exclamation points and emojis for 2 in the morning. The boy seems unable to feel fatigue. Grantaire unlocks his phone so he can read the texts, sitting up in bed.

**Courf:** hey guyssssssss ya’ll r probs sleeping but whatever

**Courf:** ooh i could totally spam you rn

**Courf:** you guys would be so mad

**Courf:** it would be hilarious!!!!!!!!!!

**Courf:** but i won’t, don’t worry

**Courf:** i’m a great friend, i know

**Courf:** u guys are so lucky to have me

**Courf:** ANYWAYS i’m having a party on saturday, and i’m only inviting u guys!!!!!

**Courf:** it’s so exclusive!!!!!!!!!!! U guys r like vip!!!!!!!!

**Courf:** it’s at my house at 6!!!!!

**Courf:** bring food, or don’t, it really doesn’t matter. my mom buys enough to feed a small army anyways 

**Courf:** oh btw for Eponine and Grantaire who have not yet visited mi casa i’m in apartment 24 in the building on 601 west elm street

**Courf:** whoops i kinda spammed you anyways #sorrynotsorry

**Courf:** kk, i’m gonna go to bed now but please come guys it will be fun i promise

**Courf:** goodnight my lovelies sleep well!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In addition to the overabundance of exclamation points, the last text is accompanied by about thirty heart emojis, and Grantaire rolls his eyes at Courfeyrac before turning off his phone and letting sleep claim him once more. 

 

The next morning, Grantaire slides into Eponine’s beat-up 2003 Honda Accord, rubbing his eyes. She’s giving him rides to and from school until next Monday. Today is Friday, thank god. Grantaire literally doesn't know how he’s surviving without his car. 

“Sorry for not giving you a ride yesterday,” Eponine begins. “Though it seems like you found a suitable replacement…” she lets her sentence trail off, batting her eyelashes at him.  

“Oh my  _ god,  _ shut  _ up, _ ” Grantaire groans, but he’s laughing. “It’s too early for this.”

“I felt bad about yesterday, so I bought you a coffee.” Eponine hands him a warm cup, and Grantaire seizes it greedily. 

“Eponine, you are a lifesaver. You are amazing. You are a saint.” Eponine laughs, and they spend the rest of the ride in comfortable silence as Grantaire savors his coffee. 

 

Grantaire walks into first period French, and sees Courfeyrac waving him over. It’s funny. He never realized that Combeferre and Courfeyrac were both in this class. He doesn’t know exactly  _ how  _ he’s failed to realize this, being as Combeferre is one of the smartest people he has ever met, and Courfeyrac is… well… Courfeyrac, but he’s glad he gets to walk into his first class of the day and see familiar faces. 

“Grantaire! Can you make it to my party?” Courfeyrac looks at him pleadingly as Grantaire slides into his seat next to him. 

“Yeah, I think so. You look great today, by the way.” It’s true. Courfeyrac is wearing a flourescent green button down with jeans and cowboy boots, and it sounds like an utterly disgusting combination, but he somehow manages to make it work. Courfeyrac’s smile lights up the whole room, and Combeferre rushes in, dropping his stuff in the seat directly in front of Grantaire. 

“Ferre! You’re coming to my party right?” Courfeyrac looks anxious, and it occurs to Grantaire that Combeferre’s crush on Courfeyrac might not be a one-way street. 

“Yeah, of course. I wouldn’t miss it,” Combeferre replies. Courfeyrac blushes, and smiles. Just then, their teacher, Mademoiselle Fantine, calls the class to order. She instructs them to take out their homework, and Grantaire and Courfeyrac look at each other with panicked expressions. Combeferre doesn’t even look at them, just passes his notebook paper behind him. Grantaire seizes it and scribbles down the answers, then hands it to Courfeyrac, who gets it back to Grantaire just before Mademoiselle Fantine begins to walk around and collect the homework. 

Courfeyrac and Grantaire hand it to her with innocent smiles, and she raises her eyebrows at them before she takes it, smiling slightly. 

Grantaire zones out after that, staring at a spot on the blackboard and just thinking about life in general, when he’s startles from his reverie by a note tossed onto his desk. His first reaction is to look at Courfeyrac, who, judging by his glazed expression, is much too out of it to have been the perpetrator. That leaves Combeferre. Grantaire unfolds the note.

_ I thought you liked Enj.  _ The handwriting is neat and precise, but Grantaire is still immensely confused at what is written on the paper.

_ Um, I do, last I checked. I thought it was pretty obvious. Do I seem like I like someone else?  _ He throws the note over Combeferre’s shoulder, and it lands softly on the desk. He watches Combeferre read it and scribble a response.

_ I mean, it kind of seems like you have a thing for Courf. You keep smiling at him and complimenting him on his outfits. _

_ I complimented him once, and let’s be real, nobody else could have pulled that outfit off. Who do you know that could pull off fluorescent green other than Courfeyrac? And I smile at you too, that doesn’t mean I want to date you.  _

Combeferre seems to hesitate before scribbling down his response and passing it back to Grantaire. 

_ Fair enough. Sorry. In case you couldn’t tell, I kind of have a thing for Courf myself.  _ Grantaire isn’t surprised by this, but he is surprised that Combeferre feels comfortable enough to tell him. He scribbles out a reply.

_ Um, no offense, but you might be even more obvious than I am.  _

_ I don’t think that’s possible.  _ Grantaire pokes Combeferre and rolls his eyes. Combeferre shrugs back at him, and turns back around. The bell rings then, and Grantaire shoves the note into his backpack before hoisting it onto his shoulder and poking a glassy-eyed Courfeyrac who blinks, disoriented, and allows Combeferre to pull him into a standing position. The way those two are smiling at each other is almost obscene, and Grantaire runs out of the class, not bothering to say goodbye. He’ll see them at lunch anyway.  _ He’ll see Enjolras too.  _ The thought makes him come to a halt in the middle of the hallway, causing a few freshmen to crash into him. He helps them up, not really registering what he’s doing. Will Enjolras act differently after yesterday? He doesn’t know.

 

When lunch rolls around, he slides into the spot he has claimed as his own. The other people who share a lunch period with him are Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Joly. Courfeyrac had called him over the day after the first meeting, and Grantaire hadn’t known how to refuse. It’s nice, sitting with actual people who talk to him, and not having to go on his phone for the whole period.

Joly’s the next one there. The second he sits down, he yanks a paper towel out of his back pocket and carefully wipes the table before setting down his lunch bag. He then takes out a mini hand sanitizer and pumps an inordinate amount onto his hands before registering Grantaire’s presence. 

“Hey Grantaire,” he says. Grantaire nods at him, mouth too full of pizza to respond. The pizza isn’t good, but it’s pizza, and Grantaire would rather have crappy pizza than no pizza. Enjolras sits down next, taking his usual seat across from Grantaire. Grantaire searches for something in his expression, something that shows that there is something different between them since yesterday, but Enjolras’s face is carefully blank. 

“Hey Enjolras,” he says, swallowing his pizza. 

“Hey,” Enjolras responds, glancing up at him for a moment before going back to his sushi. Grantaire takes a sip of his Sprite to disguise his annoyance. He had hoped things would be different, that Enjolras would finally feel ready to associate with Grantaire in public, but apparently not. Courfeyrac slides in next to Grantaire, ranting about something that had happened in his third period Bio class, and Combeferre slides in shortly thereafter. Grantaire waits for a pause in Courfeyrac’s stream of chatter before he tries again. 

“So, Enjolras, you’re going to Courfeyrac’s party, right?” Enjolras nods, not looking up from where he is dunking a piece of sushi in soy sauce, seemingly determined to have an even coating on every square inch. Maybe he’s just having an off day, and doesn’t really want to talk to anyone. But can Enjolras even  _ have  _ an off day? Apparently not, Grantaire notes. Joly has asked him a question about something they were learning in History, and Enjolras is explaining it passionately and in great detail with dramatic gestures, almost knocking the tray out of the arms of a passing sophomore. 

Grantaire gives up. Obviously Enjolras doesn’t want to talk to him, and that’s fine by him. He can do the same. He doesn’t say a word for the rest of lunch, and leaves the cafeteria early, not seeing how Enjolras watches him go, with an expression close to sadness in his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments and kudos, they mean the world to me!!! The sources I used for Enjy's gun control arguments are: 
> 
> https://gun-control.procon.org
> 
> https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/its-time-to-retire-the-guns-dont-kill-people-people_us_59e0f6d4e4b09e31db975887
> 
> Finally, I am going to be updating every Monday, so yay, there's actually a schedule now


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He raises his hand and then lowers it again. This is the third time he’s tried to knock. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. It’s just a party. He grits his teeth and knocks before he loses his nerve.

Grantaire drives Eponine home later that day, ranting to her about Enjolras’s snub in the lunchroom. 

“I mean, it’s not like it would have killed him to at least acknowledge that we talked! Yeah, he talked to me, am I really that awful?” Eponine shakes her head absently. She’s zoning out, gazing out of the window at the road ahead of them. Grantaire knows that she isn’t paying attention, but doesn’t care. He just needs to get this off his chest, and it helps to have another person in the car so he doesn’t just look like a crazy person talking to himself. 

“I had a nice time, and I thought he did too. We laughed and stuff, and I don’t know, he seemed kind of sad when it was over. I was too. He seemed so  _ different  _ then Ep, it was like he was a totally different person. All the tension was just gone. I liked it. Obviously he didn’t though. Maybe I shouldn’t go to Courfeyrac’s party-” Eponine snaps out of her trance.

“No! R, you have to go! If you don’t go, I can’t go, and I really,  _ really  _ want to go. I have  _ such  _ a hot outfit picked out, come on, let me show myself off…” She pulls out her phone and shows him a picture of her in her outfit, standing in front of her mirror.

“Eponine, don’t  _ do  _ that, I’m  _ driving,  _ do you want to die?” He manages to catch a glimpse of the picture out of the corner of his eye before she stuffs her phone back into her pocket, however, and she’s right, she looks really good. The lilac shirt she chose brings out the luster in her hair, and her hoop earrings bring out the gold in her eyes. 

“I don’t know- I’ll think about it,” he says finally, and she rolls her eyes.

“That just means you’ll procrastinate until the day of the party when you realize you do want to go and then realize you have nothing to wear and have a panic attack. Come on R, just  _ go.  _ It’ll be fun. Besides, didn’t you already promise Courfeyrac? If you don’t go, he will be really pissed, we both know it.” Grantaire has forgotten about that, and so he nods, and unlocks the door so Eponine can climb out of the car since they’ve reached her building. She waves a cheery goodbye, and he watches her until she disappears inside the dark lobby of the apartment building. 

He knows she’s right. And he knows that if Enjolras hadn’t been ignoring him, then he would have seized this opportunity. He’s also already agreed to go, and he hates backing out of promises. He massages his temples before pulling away from the curb and driving back to his house. 

 

When he’s safely in his room, he rifles through his closet for something that might be acceptable to wear to a party. He’s assuming it’s going to be casual, since Courfeyrac is only inviting the members of the club. He hadn’t realized how many of his shirts are black, or how many of his jeans are ripped. He didn’t even know he owned this many clothes. He searches for a hint of color somewhere, but the only things he manages to find are a faded Death Cab for Cutie t-shirt and a navy-blue hoodie that seems acceptable until he realizes that one of the sleeves is almost entirely covered in paint. 

Well, shit. He really does have nothing to wear. He sinks to the floor, sitting amidst the rejected shirts and looks up at his closet, praying that maybe, somehow, the perfect shirt will float down to him like a fucking snowflake falling from the sky- and it does. 

Well, it doesn’t float down so much as fall down, but it still happens. Grantaire appraises it nervously from where he sits, not wanting to get his hopes up. But he has to admit, it looks pretty good.

It’s a dark green t-shirt, slightly worn, but it looks really soft. He carefully holds it out in front of him, scanning it for signs of paint. Nothing. He turns it around, and there’s no paint, no rips, no weird stains that seem to have no origin. It’s literally the perfect shirt. He yanks off the paint-stained black t-shirt that he’s chosen to wear today, and pulls the green one on instead, looking at himself in the mirror. 

It fits him perfectly, stretching across his chest. The sleeves make him look like he actually has biceps, which is a welcome change. The green brings out the green of his eyes, and it juxtaposes his black curls very nicely. There’s no denying it-he looks  _ hot.  _ He messages Eponine. 

 

**R:** i’m going to the party

**Ponine:** thank god

**Ponine:** what changed ur mind

**R:** i found a shirt and holy shit i look hot

**Ponine:** send me a pic

 

He does, and it takes her a moment to respond, He plays with the hem of the shirt nervously, worrying that maybe he was just hallucinating, but then his phone dings. 

 

**Ponine:** holy SHIT 

**Ponine:** wow

**Ponine:** you look good wow you should wear that every day

**Ponine:** you’ll definitely get enjolras’s attention ;) 

**R:** enjolras doesn’t even like me like that

**R:** i don’t think he likes me at all actually

**Ponine:** well this party will change that

 

Grantaire really hopes she’s right. 

 

The next day is the day before the party, and the day of another meeting. Grantaire has resolved to get Enjolras to talk to him today, no matter how awkward it may get. But it’s more difficult than it seems. Enjolras isn’t at lunch, and questioning Joly reveals that he’s probably with his history teacher, arguing about something that the teacher said. 

“That’s where he is most days when he isn’t at lunch,” Joly says, taking a bite of his burrito. Grantaire practically sprints to where he knows Enjolras’s history class is (he’s not a stalker, he  _ isn’t,  _ it’s just that he happened to see Enjolras’s schedule one day and maybe happened to memorize it?) and peeks inside, but Enjolras isn’t there. There’s no time for further investigation, as the bell rings, and Grantaire curses before running  back to the lunchroom to retrieve his stuff before heading up the stairs to Bio. 

When he arrives at the meeting (fifteen minutes early- he’d excused himself to go to the bathroom, which was complete bullshit, Grantaire never used the school bathroom if he could help it) Enjolras is there, typing furiously on a MacBook. Grantaire breathes a sigh of relief, and Enjolras looks up. 

“Hello,” he says formally. Grantaire groans inwardly before walking over to the table where Enjolras is sitting and perching on the edge of it.

“How’d you get here so early?” he asks Enjolras, ignoring the greeting. 

“Since I run the club, I’m allowed to leave fifteen minutes early if I want so that I can set up,” Enjolras replies, eyes going back to his MacBook. “How’d you get here so early?”

“Skipped class,” Grantaire replies. Enjolras’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t comment.  Grantaire takes a deep breath and continues. “Look, Enjolras- you’ve kind of been ignoring me since you drove me home and I wanted to know why?” Enjolras looks up at him, then back down at the table, picking at the dried paint with his fingernail.

“I have been ignoring you,” he says, and Grantaire really shouldn’t be this surprised at his forwardness, it’s  _ Enjolras  _ after all. “And I’m sorry. It just felt too awkward after the car ride, for some reason.” Grantaire nods. “I realize I was in the wrong, and I would like to start over,” Enjolras finishes, extending his hand and looking Grantaire dead in the eye. This should not be as hot as it is, and Grantaire has to catch his breath before shaking Enjolras’s hand. Enjolras smiles, eyes crinkling slightly. 

“ _ Oh my gosh, _ ” says a voice, and Grantaire whips his head around. Courfeyrac and Jehan are standing behind him, and Courfeyrac looks like the cat who caught the canary. Jehan is smirking at him, twirling one end of his braid around and around his finger. Enjolras’s face flushes angrily. 

“How long have you been standing there?” he asks. Courfeyrac turns his dazzling griin on him.

“Long enough,” he replies before grabbing Grantaire’s hand and yanking him into a corner. “Jehan, go distract Enjy.”

“If I must,” Jehan says with a sigh, walking over to Enjolras and sitting next to him. They start to talk, and Enjolras is smiling, and Grantaire is suddenly insanely jealous. But there’s no time for his petty jealousy now, because Courfeyrac is pulling him to face him. 

“Grantaire,” Courfeyrac says slowly, smirking. “Do you know how many times Enjolras has apologized?” Grantaire shakes his head, confused. 

“He never says the actual word ‘sorry,’ only ‘I was in the wrong,  _ but… _ ’ But he said  _ sorry  _ to you. He used the actual word sorry. The only person I’ve  _ ever  _ heard him say sorry to is Jehan, and that’s because he made him cry. So…” he trails off. Grantaire doesn’t see what’s so important about this, but he nods and acts like he understands before pulling himself out of Courfeyrac’s vice-like grip. 

The others have started filing in, laughing and joking. Bossuet is recounting how, exactly, he managed to end up flying face-first into a trash can (which is a story Grantaire is rather eager to hear) to a laughing Joly, Eponine is angrily talking about her math test to a sympathetic Combeferre, and Musichetta is currently in the throes of a very intense staring contest with Bahorel, Feuilly cheering them both on. Marius and Cosette are nowhere to be seen, which doesn’t surprise Grantaire in the least. They’re probably making out in the hall somewhere. 

The group sits down around a table, and Enjolras clears his throat. The noise stops abruptly. Grantaire wonders what it must be like, to hold that kind of power. Everyone in the group clearly respects Enjolras, looks up to him, while also seeing him as a friend, somebody they can laugh and joke around with. It’s interesting which emotions they switch between given the situation, Grantaire wishes he could switch like that too, but for now he’s only capable of feeling inferior to Enjolras in every aspect, and he doubts that will let up anytime soon. 

He sits next to Courfeyrac and props his head in his hands, listening to Enjolras rant. His voice rises and falls, and Grantaire is soothed just listening to the cadence of his words. Marius and Cosette run in half an hour late, and he sees Eponine’s withering glare, but he doesn't acknowledge it. He’s too busy gazing up at Enjolras who is looking at… him? Oh no. Had he asked him a question? Grantaire frantically tries to peruse his mind for the part that may have been listening to Enjolras for the past 45 minutes, but it’s no use.

“Grantaire? Is that a yes?” Grantaire doesn’t know what the hell he’s agreeing to, but he nods, because he will agree to anything if it means he gets to see Enjolras smile. 

His plan works, because Enjolras gives him a warm smile, eyes lingering on him for a moment before looking away and continuing. 

“Now, since Grantaire has agreed to make posters-” Grantaire cuts him off, shoving his chair back and standing up. 

“Um, no. Sorry. That’s not happening.” His chest is heaving. He doesn’t allow  _ anyone  _ to see his work,  _ ever.  _ The only person who has ever seen something that he’s drawn is Eponine, and that’s only because he gave her a drawing of her for her birthday  this past year, after she had begged for it for almost six months. “Who told you I drew anyway?”

Enjolras tries to keep a poker face, but his eyes flick over to Eponine, who gives it away even more by blushing. Grantaire glares at her, but turns his attention back to Enjolras. 

“Nope, sorry, but no. I don’t draw for other people.” He doesn’t know why he feels so strongly about this, but he has always hated other people seeing his work, afraid that they might be judging him. Even in kindergarten, he remembers snatching his crayon drawing of a group of flowers in a meadow from under the teachers scrutinizing gaze, hiding it in the depths of his backpack. Enjolras looks at him pleadingly.

“Grantaire, nobody in here can draw. At all. Jehan does sometimes, but he mostly just does calligraphy. We want to change our posters a bit from that, and Eponine showed me the drawing you made of her, and it’s a lot better than anyone else in here can do. It would mean a lot to us if you did this. I’m not asking for anything extravagant, just a few designs for us to debate over. We would use them to recruit more people to the club.” Enjolras crosses his arms over his chest and waits for his response. Grantaire holds his gaze for a bit before slumping back down into his seat.

“Yeah. Fine. Whatever.” Enjolras smiles again, making Grantaire think that maybe it was actually worth it. 

During the rest of the meeting, Grantaire doesn’t hear anything Enjolras says. His mind is thinking of designs to do, simple ones, or ones that will blow Enjolras away. He doesn't even realize the meeting has ended until Eponine pokes him.

“Earth to R,” she sings. “We have to go.” Grantaire stands up abruptly.

“Do you need a ride?”

“No, how do you think I got to school today?” Grantaire nods. 

“Right.” 

“You’re still going to Courf’s party right?” Eponine asks, a hint of worry in her eyes. “You kind of have to- it would be a sin not to wear that shirt.” She winks at him.

“I haven’t changed my mind since last night, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m going to look hot as  _ fuck. _ ” Eponine laughs. He sees Courfeyrac coming up behind them.

“What’s this I hear about looking hot as fuck? I’m sorry, but that’s my department.” He winks at Eponine, who blushes slightly. 

“We were talking about what Grantaire is going to wear to your party,” she tells him. His face lights up. 

“Cool! It’s going to be fun. We’re getting pizza- and I think there might be booze, if I can get Montparnasse to get some for me.” Eponine’s face falls.

“You’re not  _ inviting  _ him, are you?” Courfeyrac shakes his head adamantly. 

“I can’t stand him. But I have blackmail on him and so he gets me booze! It’s a lovely system.” Courfeyrac gives them a wicked grin, and Grantaire makes a mental note to never get on Courfeyrac’s bad side. Combeferre taps Courfeyrac’s shoulder, and Courf turns around.

“The lovely Combeferre! We were just talking about booze for the party.”

“Great,” Combeferre says flatly. Courfeyrac’s face calls comically.

“Don’t you Combe- _ care _ ?” Grantaire snorts, and Courf shoots him a grin. “See, Grantaire understands my humor.” Combeferre rolls his eyes. Grantaire can’t help but wonder if Combeferre really believed him when he said he didn’t like Courfeyrac.

“Courf, stop standing around talking. I need to go and you said you would give me a ride.” He walks away. Courfeyrac waves apologetically and runs to catch up with him, whispering something in his ear that makes Combeferre smile slightly. 

“Those two need to get their shit together,” Eponine says as she watches them go.

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees. For a split second he’s sad, thinking about Enjolras. At least Combeferre actually has a decent chance with Courfeyrac, probably more than decent to be honest. There is almost no hope for Grantaire. But he brightens, remembering the party.

“I have to go,” Grantaire says, hugging Eponine goodbye. “My teachers apparently don’t understand that some people actually have lives on the weekend.”

“It’s a difficult concept to grasp,” Eponine agrees. “Go, finish your homework. I’ll see you tomorrow!” She waves, and skips over to join Marius and Cosette. Grantaire leaves.

 

Finally, it’s the night of the party. Grantaire is standing outside the door of Courfeyrac’s apartment, located in on of those fancy high-rises. Judging by the decor of the lobby, Courfeyrac’s family is filthy rich. Grantaire plays with the hem of his shirt nervously. He’d forced himself to wait in his car for an extra five minutes in order to be fashionably late, and he can hear laughter and chatter from inside, as well as the radio blasting a Katy Perry song. 

He raises his hand and then lowers it again. This is the third time he’s tried to knock. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. It’s just a party. He grits his teeth and knocks before he loses his nerve. 

Courfeyrac flings open the door. He’s wearing something different from his normal neon button-down. It’s a soft gray t-shirt with a brown bomber jacket over a pair of ripped black skinny jeans. He looks really good. 

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac yanks him inside, slamming the door behind him. “Welcome to mi casa! My parents are out of town for another three days, so I have booze!” Grantaire laughs, then turns around to look at the living room. His jaw drops.

His first impression had been right. Courfeyrac is  _ extremely  _ rich. The living room alone is probably the size of Grantaire’s entire first floor. Adjacent to the living room is a kitchen with marble countertops and stainless steel appliances, a breakfast bar in the center. Combeferre, Eponine, Marius, Cosette, Jehan, bahorel, Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are already there, sitting in a circle on the rug, each with a bottle of beer in front of them. The only person noticeably absent in Enjolras. 

“R!” Eponine says when she sees him. “Fashionably late, I see.” Grantaire nods.

“It’s an art form,” he replies. He sits down next to Combeferre. Courfeyrac reappears next to him holding out a beer, which Grantaire gratefully accepts. 

“Okay!” Courfeyrac shouts. “Now that we are all here- except for Enjolras, who texted me that he will be running late- we can begin!” Bossuet starts to clap, but realizes that nobody else is doing so and lowers his hand sheepishly. Musichetta places a kiss on his cheek comfortingly. “Y’all can do whatever you want until Enjy gets here, at which point we are going to try and get him drunk so we can play Spin the Bottle.” Everyone laughs and agrees, and Grantaire winds up sitting on the armrest of the sofa, talking to Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet. 

“Just so you know,” Musichetta says, “the three of us are dating. Yes, three of us. Yes, it’s abnormal. No, I’m not a witch. I’m just telling you to avoid any unnecessary confusion.” Grantaire nods.

“How does that work? It seems like it would be difficult to plan dates,” he replies. Joly laughs. 

“Bossuet hasn't exactly been able to make it on many dates, has he?” he says, glancing at Musichetta, who laughs and shakes her head.

“Shut up guys,” Bossuet mumbles. 

“I’m sensing a story here,” Grantaire sings. “Do tell.” Musichetta clears her throat. 

“Well, for our first date we were going to go to that retro coffee shop- I think it’s called Cafe Musain? Anyway, Joly and I were already there and Bossuet texts us saying that he’s running late and to start without him. So we get coffee and sit down and are having a great time but soon enough it’s been an hour and Bossuet still isn’t there. So Joly calls him and-” Joly cuts her off, eager to tell this part of the story.

“-and I’m like ‘where are you, it’s been an hour’ and Bossuet’s like ‘I’m locked in the trunk of my car, if you could help me that would be super great,’ and me and Chetta are so confused so we go outside and we see his car, so I open the trunk and he’s just laying there!” Joly is cackling at this point, wiping tears from his eyes. Musichetta takes over.

“Turns out he arrived forty-five minutes ago, but wanted to get his sweatshirt out of his trunk, but he couldn’t quite reach it. So he climbed in, and the trunk closed on him!” Grantaire can’t stop laughing. He feels at ease, and takes another sip from his beer just as Courfeyrac’s front door opens. 

“Hey,” says Enjolras, and Grantaire almost spits out his beer because Enjolras is wearing  _ glasses,  _ glasses with square black frames and holy shit it should be illegal for someone to be this hot. Courfeyrac ushers him inside, shutting the door behind him. 

“Why are you late anyway?” Courfeyrac asks. Enjolras sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

“I was studying all night, and fell asleep. I woke up like half an hour ago, and got dressed and stuff and I was in my car when I realized I wasn't wearing my contacts. Luckily I keep my glasses in my car, so…” He trails off, shifting almost self-consciously. Grantaire realizes that his mouth is hanging open and quickly closes it. Jehan, who has been watching him throughout all this, winks at him, and Grantaire curses himself for not being more subtle. 

Courfeyrac thrusts a beer into Enjolras’s hands. Enjolras frowns at it and tries to hand it back to Courfeyrac, who shakes his head adamantly. 

“Nope, you are going to drink it and get drunk just like the rest of us and it will be great and we can play Spin the Bottle. Drink it.” Enjolras rolls his eyes and takes a sip, scrunching up his face as he does so. The group cheers, and Courfeyrac herds everyone into a circle.

“Okay!” He says, clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. “We are going to play Spin the Bottle. For people who do not know how to play, I will explain! Someone spins the bottle and when it lands on someone they have to kiss them! Then that person spins the bottle and so on and so forth. However, due to some… misconceptions in the past,” here he blushes slightly, “we have added an element. You will roll the dice and if you get one, two, or three it’s a peck and anything over three is a makeout session! Makeouts have to be a minimum of thirty seconds.” He grins wolfishly. “So! Let us begin. Who wants to go first?” Nobody raises their hand. Courfeyrac sighs. “Guys, come on… Ooh! I know! Grantaire, since it is your first visit here, you can go first. Or Eponine. You guys can battle it out.” Eponine shakes her head adamantly, and Grantaire takes the bottle from Courfeyrac, who grins and plops down next to Combeferre, who looks pleased at this development. 

Grantaire spins the bottle, and it lands on Courfeyrac. The members of the group cheer, and Bossuet hands Grantaire the die. Grantaire rolls it, and gets a six. Courfeyrac grins at him, and leans in. Bossuet sets a timer on his phone, and Grantaire kisses Courfeyrac. 

It’s nice, actually. Courfeyrac is a good kisser, and Grantaire finds himself pulling him closer. Courfeyrac doesn’t seem to mind. He seems to be enjoying himself, actually. HIs hands are buried in Grantaire’s hair, using the strands to meld their bodies together. When they pull away after forty-two seconds, both of them are flushed and panting. Grantaire notices Combeferre clenching and unclenching his fists, and is suddenly very glad he's sitting across the circle from him. Courfeyrac spins next, and it lands on Enjolras, who groans. 

“Roll the die Courf,” Combeferre cheers, and is it Grantaire's imagination, or does he send a smug look Grantaire’s way? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Grantaire knows it’s all fake, it’s all part of the game, Courfeyrac and Enjolras kissing will do absolutely nothing to him. Courfeyrac rolls a four, and Combeferre sends another gloating look to Grantaire, who can feel his face heating up. He  _ won’t  _ react, he won’t it will be fine-

But he does react. He can’t help it, he is just so  _ insanely  _ jealous of Courfeyrac. It goes on for far too long, and he wishes he were Courfeyrac, wishes he could bury his hands in Enjolras’s golden curls, have Enjolras pull him closer. They break apart after thirty-six seconds, and Grantaire suddenly understands exactly how Combeferre must have felt. He glances at him, and notices that Courfeyrac is looking at Combeferre too, bright smile fading slightly. He whispers something to Combeferre, who shakes his head and turns away from Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac looks hurt, but ignores it.

Enjolras sets the bottle in the middle of the floor, and gives it a gentle push. It spins, and spins, and Grantaire is praying it lands on him and praying that it doesn’t, and it’s slowing down, and it has stopped. In front of him. 

Enjolras looks at him for a moment before rolling the die, and rolls a one. Grantaire feels both blessed and cursed, blessed that he will get the chance to kiss Enjolras, cursed that the kiss will never mean anything. Courfeyrac and Combeferre are watching him intently, smirks playing at the corners of their lips. Grantaire hates them both with every fiber of his being.

Enjolras pulls at the hem of his shirt awkwardly, leaning forward slightly. Grantaire meets him in the middle. Enjolras's lips are soft and slightly chapped, and he tastes like a mixture of coffee, beer, and mint toothpaste. The kiss is short and sweet, their lips melding together perfectly for one blissful moment before they break apart, avoiding eye contact. Grantaire can feel himself blushing furiously. When he looks up, Enjolras is still looking at him for some reason. Grantaire looks back down at the bottle. 

He spins the bottle and lands on Eponine, and gives her a chaste kiss. Eponine gets Marius, much to her delight, and makes out with him for a record fifty-four seconds. Cosette looks like she’s ready to strangle the both of them, but she just smiles and plants a kiss on Marius’s cheek possessively. 

The rest of the party is more or less drama-free. They’re all slightly tipsy, and laughter floats around the living room. After having had five beers, Grantaire is laying on his back on Courfeyrac’s soft shag run, watching the ceiling fan go around and around, when he feels the sudden urge to pee. It really cannot wait, and he doesn’t see Courfeyrac anywhere, so he resolves to find the bathroom on his own. 

He wanders down a hallway, looking at all the doors. They’re all open except for one, and he reasons  that the closed one is probably the bathroom. Mentally praising himself for this deduction, he knocks quickly on the door, hopping from foot to foot. 

“Occupied,” comes a weak voice from inside the room, and Grantaire is confused because while the voice certainly  _ sounded  _ like Courfeyrac, he’s never heard Courfeyrac say anything in that tone. He sounds… defeated. 

“Courfeyrac,” Grantaire says the name slowly, pumping his fist when he gets it right. “I need to pee.” The door swings open, revealing a red-eyes Courfeyrac. 

“I’m going to stay in here, if you don’t mind. I won’t watch, I promise.” Grantaire doesn’t care of Courfeyrac watches or not, he just needs to pee. He does so, feeling relief wash over him, and washes his hands before he realizes that Courfeyrac is crying. Grantaire does not feel equipped to deal with an emotional Courfeyrac, but as there is nobody else in the room, the responsibility has fallen to him. He sinks down onto the floor next to Courfeyrac, rubbing his back gently. 

“What happened?” he asks. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to-”

“No, it’s- it’s okay,” Courfeyrac says, hiccuping slightly. “I just- Ferre hates me and I don’t know why and I really  _ really  _ like him Grantaire, oh my god I like him so much what the fuck do I  _ do _ ?” He buries his face in Grantaire’s shirt.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Grantaire says. Courfeyrac shakes his head.

“He’s been ignoring me for most of the party- I don’t know what I did!” Grantaire has some idea, but doesn’t know how to tell Courfeyrac this without revealing Combeferre’s secret. 

“I really like him,” Courfeyrac mutters again. “Even if he doesn’t like me back, I don’t want to lose one of my best friends.” Grantaire sighs, running his fingers through Courfeyrac’s hair absently.

“If it makes you feel any better, Enjolras hates me a lot more than Ferre  _ allegedly  _ hates you,” Grantaire says, yawning. Courfeyrac sits up, shaking his head. 

“No. Grantaire, he doesn’t hate you. I can tell.” Grantaire snorts. 

“Yeah, right. Enough about my pitiful love life though. Combeferre doesn’t hate you either, and I’m being honest here. Maybe he was just having a bad night?” Courfeyrac sighs, laying his head back into Grantaire’s lap. 

“Yeah. Maybe.” 

They stay like that for another twenty minutes, neither of them talking, before Courfeyrac gets up to go back to the party.

“Thanks Grantaire,” Courfeyrac says, hugging him. He grins slightly, and Grantaire grins back. 

“I didn’t really do anything, but you’re very welcome,” he replies, taking off an imaginary top hat and bowing low. Courfeyrac takes his wrist and tugs him back to the living room, where a thoroughly drunk Bahorel is attempting to sing the entirety of Bohemian Rhapsody, while carrying an equally drunk Jehan on his back. Enjolras is watching from the couch, laughing, and it should really be illegal for Enjolras to laugh like that, a sweet, musical laugh that lights up the room. 

Since drunk Grantaire rarely makes good decisions, he decides to sit next to Enjolras. Enjolras looks at him, and Grantaire realizes that Enjolras is very, very drunk. 

“How much alcohol did you have?” Grantaire asks, and Enjolras honest to god  _ pouts.  _

“Not a lot. I’m not drunk.” Grantaire raises an eyebrow.

“I’m  _ not, _ ” Enjolras repeats petulantly. Grantaire notes the single bottle next to Enjolras and laughs out loud. 

“You only had the one bottle didn’t you? Oh my  _ god  _ you’re such a lightweight! I should have known,” he muses, stroking an imaginary beard. 

“You’re drunk too,” Enjolras says accusingly. “I smell it.”

“Yes, I am drunk as well. However, I have had five beers and can still see straight, so we can’t really compare, now can we?” Enjolras rolls his eyes for lack of a better response, and Grantaire grins. He’s just won an argument with Enjolras. Granted, Enjolras is drunk, but still. It’s an achievement. 

Enjolras yawns, and leans against Grantaire, closing his eyes. Grantaire looks down at him, and then back up at Courfeyrac, who has been watching them. Courfeyrac gives him a thumbs-up, and walks away, presumably to find Combeferre. Grantaire has no idea what to do. Enjolras will regret this the second he wakes up, but he doesn’t want to move him. Enjolras is somehow already half-asleep, despite the racket that the others are making. Grantaire doesn't understand how Courfeyrac’s neighbors haven’t come knocking angrily on the door in silk bathrobes and cashmere-lined slippers, demanding to know who’s causing all the noise. 

Bahorel turns around, and dumps a giggling Jehan on the couch. Grantaire glares at him, gesturing to Enjolras. He feels incredibly protective for some reason. He knows that Enjolras is drunk, yet he can’t help feeling like it means something. He knows it doesn’t though.    
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, only that Enjolras doesn’t move at all, his chest rising and falling as he sleeps. People start to trickle out, and he looks to Courfeyrac, a question in his eyes.

“You can stay the night,” Courfeyrac says over his shoulder, as he says goodbye to Jehan. “Ferre’s giving everyone a ride home since they’re all drunk, and he’s staying too. It will be fun! We can all be hungover in the morning! Except Ferre. Poor Ferre, he’ll have to deal with us…” he laughs, and goes to a closet in the hallway, coming back with a pillow and soft-looking blanket. Grantaire takes it gratefully, spreading it over Enjolras and himself, and tilting his head back to rest on the pillow. 

He’s so tired, but before he goes to sleep he looks at Enjolras one last time. He wants to capture this in his memory, because he knows that it won’t happen again. He takes in Enjolras’s rumpled curls, his pink lips, slightly parted, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones. He smiles down at him, and then closes his own eyes, falling asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I'm actually sticking to a schedule??? This is completely unheard of??? Anyway, the next chapter should be up next Monday. Also, Chapter 4 will actually include Courfeyrac being a matchmaker, sorry for that taking so long to include! Thank you guys so much for reading!!! Please leave comments and kudos, they make my day!! Ilysm


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay. So. Enjolras’s dating history. I brought Bossuet to fill in the gap from mid-freshman year until now, because I literally have no clue what went on there. But, I do know some things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh so I have been trying to make this chapter better but it's still really bad but I promised you guys I would stick to a schedule so here it is!...

Grantaire is pissed. More than pissed, actually. As he storms down the hall after lunch, glaring at a few terrified freshmen, he reflects on this past weekend, specifically the morning after the party. 

 

He’d woken up a few minutes after Enjolras had, just in time to hear the tail end of his whispered conversation with Courfeyrac.

“- but  _ why  _ did I even- oh my  _ god  _ I will never get drunk again-”

“Enjy- chill out, it’s fine, he didn’t care-”

“Don’t call me that, and no, it’s not fine, I just- I need to go.” Grantaire had kept his eyes closed, but he heard the door slam, and Courfeyrac sigh.

“Grantaire, you can wake up now,” he’d said, and Grantaire had opened his eyes to see Courfeyrac standing over him, frowning. 

“How’d you know I was awake?” he’d asked, because of course  _ that  _ was the question he really wanted to be answered right now. 

“I saw you open your eyes and close them again- but that’s not the point. I think I need to take executive action,” Courfeyrac had said, joining Grantaire on the couch. “I need to release my matchmaker awesomeness.” 

 

Grantaire had agreed, giving Courf free rein to do whatever he wanted. Courfeyrac had agreed to put his ‘matchmaker awesomeness’ to work at the next meeting, but Grantaire was rethinking everything. He had gone to lunch that day knowing things would be awkward again between him and Enjolras, but he hadn’t expected Enjolras to do what he did. 

 

He had sat down at the table, shooting a hesitant smile at Enjolras. Enjolras had taken a deep breath before giving Grantaire a strained smile of his own. Then had come the question.

“Grantaire, can I talk to you for a second?” Grantaire had nodded, and allowed himself to be led to the hallway. Enjolras had stopped outside the bathrooms, rubbing his forehead.

“I’m sorry about Saturday,” he began, but Grantaire cut him off. 

“No need. It’s fine.” Enjolras had groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

“It isn’t, actually. I just- I don’t think we’re working. We’re too different. It’s ot any of our faults, it’s just- we clash. So… ” Grantaire had walked away then, back inside, grabbed his bag, and left. 

 

So now he was here, storming down the hallway to Courfeyrac’s fifth period class, angrily typing out a text. 

 

**R:** so enj doesn’t want to be friends with me

**Courf:** meet me in the bathroom, 1st floor

 

Grantaire goes, slumping to the floor of the largest stall. Soon, he sees a pair of immaculate Vans step into the bathroom.

“Grantaire?” Grantaire opens the stall door a crack. Courfeyrac joins him in the stall, squatting down so as not to mess up his pristine white jeans. 

“What did he say?” Courfeyrac asks gently. 

“He was just- he felt bad about falling asleep on me I guess, and then he basically said, like, this friendship isn’t working and- yeah.” Courfeyrac hums sympathetically. 

“Enjolras- he’s not good with feelings? I know that doesn’t make you feel any better, but he really should have, like, thought this through better. He’s really good at reading other people, but not himself, for some reason. It probably has to do with- well, a lot of stuff really. Hey, you remember how I invited you out for coffee on Saturday and then we just never went?” 

“Yeah.”

“D’you want to go today? Jehan can’t make it, but Ferre and I can go and you can come too.” Grantaire really does not want to go to a coffee shop third-wheeling it with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, but he agrees, because it’s Courfeyrac, and you can’t say no to Courfeyrac.  

“Cool! Okay, I can explain everything to you there. It’s kind of a long story, so I hope you don’t need to be anywhere.”

“Courf, I literally have no life. I can go.” Courfeyrac smiles excitedly. “Yay! Okay, I should probably get back to class since this is like the second bathroom break I’ve taken this period, so yeah. I’ll meet you out back after school, yeah?” Grantaire nods, and Courfeyrac hugs him before bounding out the door. 

The promise of coffee with Courf and Ferre later helps him get through the day. His day is completely awful, however. He gets back a science test he had actually studied for, only to find out that he had gotten a 56, the red numbers a stark contrast to the crisp white paper. Someone spills their drink in the hallway and he slips in it, dirtying the bottom of his jeans with melted blue Slushie. He ties his hoodie around his waist to cover it up, but he can still feel it seeping on to his skin. So he is incredibly thankful when the bell rings and he can just grab his bag and  _ go,  _ running outside as fast as he can to wait for Courfeyrac. 

He soon sees him exit the building, Combeferre and Bossuet by his side. Courfeyrac walks quickly over to Grantaire. 

“Hey. Is it okay if we brought Bossuet? He knows a lot about Enjolras’s love life for some reason he has yet to divulge. Plus, he can share that story of how he flew into a trash can- I’ve wanted to hear that for  _ days. _ ” Grantaire nods his assent, and smiles at Combeferre and Bossuet. 

“Well then,” Courfeyrac declares in a terrible British accent. “Off we go!” Combeferre has practically glued himself to Courfeyrac’s side, leaving Grantaire to talk to Bossuet. He doesn’t really know Bossuet too well, but he seems nice overall. 

“So you like Enjolras, huh,” Bossuet says after a bit. Grantaire looks at him, taken aback. Bossuet laughs. 

“First off, you are  _ not  _ slick. And when  _ I  _ say you’re not slick, it’s true. You literally will not look away from him. Second off, Courf told me why we were having this meeting in the first place, so all credit can not go to my amazing deduction skills.” 

“Ha. Yeah, I guess I like him. He doesn’t seem to like me though. Like, at all. So that’s fun.” Bossuet groans in sympathy. 

“If it makes you feel any better, when I first met Musichetta she slapped me across the face, and look where I am today…” he trails off, lost in the memory. They have reached the coffee shop, and Courfeyrac opens the door and bows them all through.

“After you sir,” he says to Grantaire, winking. Grantaire rolls his eyes and follows Bossuet and Combeferre to a table in the corner. 

The coffee shop is nice, with wood floors and pale gray walls with white trim. There’s some exposed brick here and there, and there are brushed metal lights hanging above each table. It’s very hipster millennial, and Grantaire rather likes it. 

“What would you like?” Combeferre asks Courfeyrac. “I’ll pay for you- and for everyone else, if they want- um, yeah.” Combeferre’s face is the same color as the brick behind him, and Grantaire is trying his very best not to laugh. 

“I’ll take a scone,” says a cheerfully oblivious Bossuet, and Courfeyrac seconds that idea. 

“Coffee for me, black please,” Grantaire says when Combeferre looks at him inquisitively. Combeferre nods, and hurries to the counter to order for them. Courfeyrac leans across the table, a smirk playing across his lips.

“Okay. So. Enjolras’s dating history. I brought Bossuet to fill in the gap from mid-freshman year until now, because I literally have no clue what went on there.  _ But,  _ I do know some things.” Combeferre returns, and hands out the food. Courfeyrac grabs his scone eagerly, letting out a moan as he takes a bite. Combeferre’s face flushes at this, and he clears his throat and looks away. Grantaire bites his lip to suppress the urge to laugh. He gets the feeling he will be doing this quite often for the next hour or so. 

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac resumes. “Enjolras has dated exactly- what is it Ferre, two people, or just the one?” 

“Two, in a way,” Combeferre responds. “Because of the whole thing in eighth grade-”

“Oh  _ yeah,  _ that.” Courfeyrac giggles. “That was  _ hilarious.  _ Not for Enjy though. Oh well. So I guess we should start there. So this girl, her name was Adrienne, she had a thing for Enjolras, and she told him that she liked him. Now, of course, oblivious Enjolras thinks that she means as a friend, so he says that he likes her too, and- oh my  _ god,  _ Ferre, please take over, I can’t-” Courfeyrac is laughing hysterically at this point, so Combeferre takes over. 

“So Adrienne tells all her friends that they are dating, and they are all happy for her because Enjolras was considered to be very attractive in eighth grade- this was before he came out, of course. Now the people who were falling over themselves to talk to him will barely look at him- but that’s beside the point.” Grantaire feels rage bubble up inside him, rage that people are treated like this, that  _ Enjolras  _ is treated like this, especially after how hard he works to give everyone an equal opportunity, to make the world a better place, but he lets it go, wanting to hear the rest of the story. 

“They go out a few times- but Enjolras thinks they are just friends going to the diner together, or whatever. So it’s been about a month, and Adrienne decides she wants to kiss him. And she decides that she wants to do it in the middle of the cafeteria, so that she can effectively ‘claim’ him as her own in front of the whole grade. She’s been sitting with us at lunch for a while now, and she gets up and pulls him with her and goes in to kiss him, and he pulls away and goes-” Courfeyrac cuts him off. 

“‘What the  _ hell  _ are you doing!’ Poor Adrienne is so confused, and she’s all ‘I thought we were dating’ but Enjolras is like ‘no, sorry, I would never date you,’ like he  _ actually  _ says that, honest to god, and she looks like she’s about to cry and she runs out of the lunchroom, and the  _ entire grade  _ has been watching the whole time, and Enjolras comes back to the table and goes ‘well that was interesting!’” Courfeyrac lays his head on the table, shoulders heaving with laughter. Grantaire is laughing too. It just seems like such an  _ Enjolras  _ thing to do.

“Okay, so,” he says, after his laughter has subsided somewhat. “What was his second relationship? You said he had two.”

“Oh yeah, he did. This second one was actually legit though, not like the first one,” Courfeyrac giggles again at the memory. “Bossuet should tell you about this one though. Enjolras told him everything during this time, for some reason. They were super close. They still are, actually, but you wouldn’t know it at first.” Bossuet shrugs bashfully. 

“So. In freshman year, Enjolras still didn’t know his sexuality- he didn’t really care, I guess. He had more important things on his mind. He met this girl, Patricia I think, in his French class, and they were partners like all the time. Anyway, eventually she asked him out, and he said yes. I guess he didn’t really like her, but he seemed like he did. They went on a bunch of dates, and actually kissed and stuff- it was crazy. They dated for what, six months? He broke up with her when she wanted to- you know.” Bossuet blushes again, looking down at the table. “He kind of hadn’t realized that he didn’t want that- not with a girl, anyways. So he ended it. He explained it to her, and it was pretty chill, overall. So yeah. That’s what happened, more or less.” 

Grantaire nods slowly. He imagined Enjolras’s coming out had probably been more of a spectacle, given Enjolras’s level of attractiveness. There had probably been a lot of disappointed girls. 

“Tell us the trash can story now!” Courfeyrac practically squeals, eyes glued to Bossuet. “Then we can make a Matchmaker Plan™!” Bossuet groans good-naturedly.

“So I was in the cafeteria,” he begins, and Courfeyrac leans forward, eyes shining. “I was going to sit with Jehan, and there’s this girl wearing Heelys!  _ Heelys,  _ Courf! I haven’t seen anyone wear those in, like, forever. Anyways, she was wearing her Heelys and I ask her if I can try them, because I am awkward as fuck. Obviously she says no, so I decide to make my own shoes into Heelys by putting banana peels on the bottoms of them that I got out of the trash can. So I do that, and I go to do some cool tricks or whatever, and I literally slam into the side of a table and I guess the impact gives me momentum or some other physics shit because I literally fly to the trash can like a fucking pinball and fall into it.” Courfeyrac is crying from laughing, and he picks up a napkin to wipe his eyes. 

“That was- that was amazing, Bossuet,” he says, mopping his eyes. “Please never change.” Bossuet laughs.

“I don’t think I can at this point,” he says. “I will be forever awkward.” 

“Anyway,” Courfeyrac says, “we need a plan. A matchmaking plan. Ferre, pen.” Combeferre hands Courfeyrac what looks like a glitter gel pen, and Courfeyrac takes it, pulling a napkin closer to him. 

“Okay. We need a five-step plan that will ensure love. Step one.” He pauses, looking around. “What is step one?” 

“Talk, maybe,” Bossuet says with a shrug, finishing off his scone. 

“ _ Bossuet,  _ you absolute  _ genius!  _ What did we do to deserve you?” Courfeyrac says, scribbling on the napkin. “Next is hang out. I think that’s good, right?” Combeferre nods. There is something that Grantaire can’t quite place in his eyes. “Okay. Number three has to be confessions- like telling secrets and stuff. It helps you know the other person better.” Combeferre’s hands are curling into fists on top of the table, and he quickly hides them in his lap. “Number four-”

“Would you just-  _ stop? _ ” Combeferre blurts suddenly. “You just- sit there, and we do all this, and it  _ doesn’t work,  _ don’t try it Grantaire, because they will just ignore it and make you feel like shit every time they can’t hang out and make your day when they smile at you and it’s not worth it to have feelings!” Courfeyrac looks utterly bemused.

“Ferre?” he says cautiously. “Are you-”

“Don’t  _ Ferre  _ me, you know, how can you not, I fucking  _ love you  _ Courfeyrac, I love you so much it hurts sometimes and I can’t keep that inside anymore, but you needed to know, and we do  _ all of this  _ and nothing happened, and I just-” he looks down at his hands, then back up. “I’m going to go now.” He stands up and storms out the door, slamming it behind him. Courfeyrac looks as though he is at a loss for words, which is a first. 

“I- has he always- I never thought-” Grantaire cuts him off. 

“Go,” he says, motioning to the door. “You have to follow him.” Courfeyrac nods, and stands up.

“I’ll just- yeah. Okay. Bye.” He slides the napkin to Grantaire and runs out the door, bell tinkling gently in his wake. 

Grantaire looks at Bossuet. It’s awkward now, just the two of them. Bossuet looks down at his napkin, then back up at Grantaire, and then back down again. 

“So. It’s about time they got their shit together, am I right?” Grantaire says, hoping it will spark a conversation. Bossuet’s face lights up.

“You noticed! There’s a betting pool- Jehan just won himself about a hundred dollars.” He sighs. “I’m going to be broke now I guess.” Grantaire laughs, and they continue to talk about Courfeyrac and Combeferre, deciding on a ship name for them (Courferre), and just having fun in general. 

“Excuse me, but you two have been here for three hours and haven’t ordered anything more…” says a man whose name tag reads _Fauchelevent_ in curly script. He’s getting old, brown hair turning gray at the roots, and has the weathered look of someone who has seen a lot in their life. Yet he also seems spry and carefree, as though confident in himself, confident in the fact that someone is looking out for him. 

The two boys apologize, and hastily grab their stuff. Bossuet texts his mom, offering Grantaire a ride, which Grantaire declines, waving to Bossuet as he walks to the door. 

Grantaire leaves the coffee shop feeling lighter than he has in weeks, despite the giant bag filled with books he has slung over one shoulder. He even decides he feels brave enough to text Enjolras, though that feeling is replaced with one of terror once he actually takes out his phone.

He’s never actually texted Enjolras one-on-one before. It’s always been in the group chat, and he hesitates before clicking on Enjolras’s name and opening up a new chat, just the two of them. 

 

**R:** can we talk? it’s Grantaire, by the way, in case you don’t have my number saved

 

He doesn’t expect Enjolras to reply quickly, and he doesn’t. Enjolras probably has a lot going on, what with changing the world and all. He looks at his phone again, and frowns when he notices the writing below his text.  _ Read at 5:54 PM.  _ The response bubble isn’t doing it’s annoying thing that it does when somebody is typing, and Grantaire’s heart sinks. He turns off his phone and shoves it deep into his pocket, resolving to ignore it as long as he can.

He manages to ignore it the whole way home, turning his key in the lock of his front door and breathing in the stale air of his house. He hasn’t realized just how often he’s completely alone in his house until now, with his parents constantly working, not getting home until midnight some days. He drops his backpack in the foyer, closing the door behind him. He takes in his house as if seeing it for the first time.

The house looks straight out of a catalog. It’s neat and pristine to the point of being almost unbearable. Framed photographs are hung perfectly straight above the couch, most of them of landscapes, one from his parents’ wedding, and a couple of him. He walks over and looks at one.

It’s a picture of him, black curls falling into dark eyes. He’s giving the camera a gap-toothed smile. Eponine is in the picture too, her brown hair falling into one eye. She looks very serious, giving the camera a slightly distrustful look. She’s never liked Grantaire’s parents. To be honest, Grantaire doesn’t much like them either. Well, it’s not so much that as it is he doesn’t know them. It’s hard to form bonds with people you only see for a few hours here and there. 

Grantaire runs up the stairs to his room, throwing open the door and taking it all in, relishing the sheer messiness of it all for a moment, so different from the calculating feel of the rest of the house. Clothes are strewn all over the wooden floor, and his desk in the corner is threatening to overflow with piles of papers. The walls are painted orange, done by Grantaire one day about three years ago in an effort to get his parents to pay attention to him. They still haven’t noticed. 

He’s pinned up pictures of himself, himself with Eponine, himself with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. One of the pictures has fallen off the wall next to his closet, which is actually unable to close due to the sheer amount of clothes on the floor inside of it, pushing the door wider and wider. Grantaire wonders how many shirts are actually on hangers right now. Probably about three. 

He flops down on his bed, pulling out his phone. He’s waited long enough. Unsurprisingly, there are no texts from his parents informing him when they will be home. They stopped sending those years ago. 

However, there is one from Enjolras, and Grantaire actually has to look away from the phone for a moment to control himself. 

 

**Enjolras:** I have your number. What would you like to talk about? 

 

Grantaire waits a moment before he starts to type.

 

**R:** i know you hate me 

**R:** but i want to try again

**Enjolras:** First of all, I don’t hate you. Second of all, what do you mean?

**R:** i want to try again in our friendship. i’m sorry if i did something you didn’t like or whatever but that time in your car was really fun for me and i think it was for you too and i think we could actually make it work

**Enjolras:** Grantaire, it’s not your fault. It’s more my fault than anything, but I guess. Sure. Let’s try again?

**R:** why the ?

**Enjolras:** I just don’t know why you care so much. I know I come off as aggressive to most people, which turns them away. I’m fortunate enough to have a nice group of friends, but nobody has actively tried to be my friend before. It’s different I guess. 

**R:** i just want to get to know you. like i said before, that time in the car was fun. i want to talk to you like that more i guess

**Enjolras:** Okay

**R:** are u sure?

**Enjolras:** Yes. Are you?

**R:** yea

**Enjolras:** Okay then.

 

Grantaire doesn’t respond to that text, too busy basking in the golden glow of being accepted by  _ Enjolras.  _

__ He lays in bed for what seems like only a few minutes, just thinking. He realizes after a while that he can barely see the ceiling anymore, and realizes that he is hungry. He runs down the stairs, feet pounding on the carpet, and into their kitchen, opening cabinets for something that he can make. He doesn’t feel like making pasta tonight, so he settles on cheese and crackers, laying them artisitcally on a plate and taking it to the table, where he scrolls through pictures on Instagram. He’s just liked Courfeyrac’s latest post, when his phone vibrates with a FaceTime call from… Enjolras? Why on  _ earth  _ would Enjolras feel the need to call  _ him?  _ Grantaire takes a deep breath before answering.

Enjolras’s face is slightly pixelated, but you can still see his beauty. He’s looking directly at the camera, eyes boring into Grantaire’s.

“Hey,” Grantaire says, voice cracking slightly. 

“The posters. You’re still doing them, right?” Enjolras asks, never breaking his gaze. Grantaire nods, throat dry.  

“Good. If you can have some designs ready for the meeting tomorrow, that would be nice.” Grantaire nods again. Enjolras looks like he’s about to say more, but just nods once, gives a small wave, and hangs up. 

Grantaire leans back in his chair, cheese and crackers forgotten. That was, without a doubt, the strangest FaceTime call he has ever had. Enjolras had wasted no time in getting to the point, not wrapping his words in fluff. The entire conversation had only been about forty-five seconds. 

He takes his plate up to his room, pulling out his sketchbook and flipping to a fresh page. He lays back on his bed, waiting for ideas to come to him. After about half an hour, his page is still blank. He groans, resisting the urge to throw his sketchbook across the room, and happens to glance out the window at the lone streetlight, lighting up a single square of sidewalk. It seems so sad somehow, all alone, not making much of a difference If there were more of them, maybe it would actually work… suddenly inspired, he starts to sketch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you enjoyed! Please leave comments and kudos, they are my life. Chapter 5 will (hopefully) be up next Monday, but I have a lot going on this week, so it might take a little longer, but I fully intend to have it up by next Wednesday at the absolute latest. Ilysm!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Courfeyrac glances at the door before whispering “Should I ask Combeferre out today?” Grantaire almost chokes on his coffee before nodding very enthusiastically.

Grantaire has always hated Valentine’s Day. It never fails to remind him that he’s single and not likely to date anyone, ever. This particular Valentine’s Day is no exception.

When he walks into French early that morning, sleep deprived and clutching a gigantic thermos of coffee, he sees Courfeyrac, who shoots him a blinding smile. He’s wearing a red button down with a little pink bow tie with hearts on it, and he looks  _ way  _ too awake for this hour. Grantaire rolls his eyes at him and sinks into his seat. It’s been almost three months since Combeferre’s outburst at the coffee shop, and Grantaire is frankly quite surprised that they aren’t dating yet. However, he has been roped into several betting pools, and he has almost fifty dollars bet on the two of them getting together today, because how more cliche can you possibly be? 

Courfeyrac glances at the door before whispering “Should I ask Combeferre out today?” Grantaire almost chokes on his coffee before nodding very enthusiastically. Courfeyrac looks nervous, and nods, pulling away as Combeferre steps into the room. He shoots Courfeyrac a thin smile, and Grantaire cringes. Their relationship has been like this ever since the coffee shop, and Grantaire hates watching it, knowing about their mutual attraction towards one another. 

Combeferre sits down and pulls out his textbook. Courfeyrac clears his throat loudly. 

“So, um, Combeferre,” he begins, and Combeferre turns around, giving him another fake smile. “It’s Valentine's Day,” he continues, and Grantaire mentally facepalms. Combeferre goes rigid in his seat, but his eyes remain glued to Courfeyrac. Grantaire can tell that Combeferre still has a  _ huge  _ thing for Courfeyrac, but does Courfeyrac know that? 

“Courf, what are you trying to say? Please don’t make fun of me for my feelings or for something I said three months ago. If you have something else to say, just spit it out.” Courfeyrac’s face falls and he shakes his head. 

“I- I just- sorry,” he whispers, before looking very intently at the paper in front of him, picking up his pencil to begin. Combeferre looks hurt, but turns back around and resumes his work. Courfeyrac looks at Grantaire and mimes a heart breaking with his hands, before scribbling something on a piece of paper and throwing it at Grantaire. 

His handwriting is nothing like Combeferre’s thin, precise lettering. Courfeyrac’s handwriting is bold with rounded letters, narrow spacing between each word as if trying to stuff as many as possible into the small space granted to him by the paper. 

 

**_Why does Ferre hate me????_ **

 

Grantaire sighs, before picking up his pen to respond. 

 

_ He doesn’t. I don’t think. He just feels awkward because you “don’t reciprocate.” _

__ **_But I do reciprocate!!!!_ **

**** _ Ok so maybe you should tell him that _

__ **_He won’t even look at me._ **

**** _ Make him.  _

__

Courfeyrac looks intrigued despite himself, and pulls out another piece of paper, scribbling hastily. Grantaire tries to peek over his shoulder and see what he’s writing, but Courfeyrac covers it with his hand and shakes his head at him, grinning slyly. 

“Boys! Please keep your eyes on your own work,” calls Mademoiselle Fantine from the front of the room, and Grantaire goes back to his work, but not before shooting a glare at Courfeyrac, who shrugs innocently. 

Later at lunch, he relays everything in whispers to Joly and Enjolras before Courfeyrac and Combeferre get there. Joly’s eyes are wide as he tells the story, forgetting about the pasta sitting almost untouched in front of him. Enjolras is less entranced. 

“Well, of course something was bound to happen,” he says. “They both like each other, and Courfeyrac’s  _ hated  _ how Combeferre’s been ignoring him. It’s the only thing he’s talked about all week.” Grantaire nods, not quite sure what Enjolras is saying, too caught up in staring at him. Joly coughs, and Grantaire is startled out of his reverie. 

“Yes! That!” he yells, and Enjolras gives him a strange look. Joly snorts, and almost chokes on a bite of pasta. Grantaire gives him a withering look. He’s starting to perfect those. 

“Anyway,” Enjolras continues, “Stop talking about it because here they come.” Grantaire swivels around to see Courfeyrac walking with Combeferre,  _ talking  _ to Combeferre. For a second, Grantaire is happy. But then he sees how red Courfeyrac’s face is, how close he is to crying, how  _ indifferent  _ Combeferre seems. He knows it’s just a facade, Combeferre is good at hiding his emotions when he wants to, but he still hates it. Combeferre says something, and Courfeyrac turns on his heel and walks out of the cafeteria. Combeferre sits next to Enjolras, cleaning his glasses on the hem of his shirt. It looks like he has tears in his eyes too, but the glasses are back on before Grantaire can get a closer look. 

“Sorry, but  _ what the fuck? _ ” Grantaire asks loudly. Enjolras glares at him, but Combeferre just sighs. 

“It’s fine Enjolras,” he says. “He was- he was saying that he wanted to be friends, and I told him that we are, and he said that we weren’t because I would barely talk to him. So I said that I didn’t feel comfortable talking to someone who knew about my feelings for them, and he said that I shouldn’t. I told him that he has no say on what I do or do not do, and he said that he was in love with me. He isn’t. I  _ know  _ he isn’t. He wants things to go back to normal, and he will say anything to get it to be that way. So I said that to him, and he left the cafeteria.” He takes a bite of his sandwich. “Any more questions?” Grantaire is in shock. He’s incredibly proud of Courfeyrac for confessing his feelings- for how confident he acts, he gets really nervous about some things- but he is more astonished at Combeferre for choosing not to believe him. 

Joly seems to be having the same train of thought. “So you didn’t even believe him, not even for a second?” he asks, and Combeferre shakes his head. 

“I wanted to,” he says. “But I just- I couldn’t.” He doesn’t elaborate. Grantaire stands up suddenly, and Enjolras looks at him, frowning. 

“I’m going to find Courfeyrac,” he says. “I want to make sure he’s okay.” Enjolras nods, and stands up as well. 

“I’ll join you,” he says, and starts walking, allowing Grantaire to fully appreciate the things that skinny jeans do to people’s asses. 

The two of them walk through the halls talking. Tension has eased between them somewhat since three months ago. 

“So,” Enjolras says, turning a corner. “How about those posters?” he looks at Grantaire, grinning slightly. 

“ _ Shit, _ ” Grantaire says. “I forgot to give those to you! They’re done, I swear, I’ll give them to you later at the meeting.” Enjolras nods. 

“Where would Courf go?” he muses. “Normal people would go in the bathroom, but I don’t think Courf would want to cry on the dirty bathroom floor.” Grantaire agrees. 

“Maybe the choir room?” he suggests. “He’s absolutely  _ obsessed  _ with the choir teacher. He says he reminds him of the teacher from  _ Glee,  _ but I never watched it so I can’t really sympathize. Plus, I don’t take choir.” Enjolras looks at him, scandalized. 

“You’ve never watched  _ Glee? _ ” he asks. Grantaire raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. “So uncultured,” Enjolras mutters as they climb the stairs to the choir room. “It’s a great show. There’s a little too much singing for my taste, but everyone gets what they deserve at one point or another. It’s fair. The plot is really… detailed, I guess, but it doesn’t make it tacky. It’s a really good show.” Grantaire cannot believe that Enjolras, out of all people, watches  _ Glee.  _

“You need to watch it,” Enjolras continues. “This is an issue. Do you want to come over on Saturday?” Grantaire’s eyes widen, and he looks at Enjolras, who looks completely serious. “We were going to have a  _ Glee  _ marathon anyway,” Enjolras continues. “It was going to be me and Courf, but now you have to come so we can educate you.” Grantaire laughs. 

“Yeah, sure.” Enjolras smiles. 

“I’ll text you the time and place,” he says, and they’ve reached the choir room. Enjolras opens the door, looking inside. Courfeyrac is sitting at the piano, elbows resting on the keys. HIs hands are covering his face, and wow, this is a side of Courfeyrac that Grantaire has never seen before. Enjolras perches on the piano bench next to him, placing a tentative hand on his back. He looks up at Grantaire and mouths  _ help,  _ and Grantaire smirks. 

He squats in front of Courfeyrac. 

“Hey” he says. Courfeyrac looks up at him. His eyes are red, and there are tear tracks running down his cheeks. 

“Hi,” he responds. Grantaire has no idea what to do. It’s at times like this when he realizes just how little he knows these people. Sure, he’s talked to them and laughed with them and sat with them at lunch for three months, but he doesn’t know things like this, what to say to make them feel better, how to get them to laugh no matter what. He’s missed out on a lifetime of private jokes and drama, and there isn’t a way he can catch up. So he does what he does best. He starts to talk about whatever comes to his mind, criticizing it and just filling the silence with his voice. Courfeyrac gradually lifts his head, and begins to laugh with Grantaire about whatever it is he’s ranting about. 

“Oh, also,” he says, remembering. “Enjolras invited me to watch  _ Glee  _ with you guys, if that’s okay?” Courfeyrac’s face brightens. 

“Yeah, that sounds great! Have you seen any episodes?” Grantaire shakes his head, and Courfeyrac’s jaw drops. He looks towards Enjolras, who shakes his head mournfully. 

“I know,” he says. “I was shocked as well. It’s our duty to introduce him to this wonder of modern society.” Courfeyrac nods adamantly, just as the bell rings. They grab their stuff, and Courfeyrac practically skips out of the room, singing what sounds like “Seize The Day.” (Don’t ask him how he knows that, he had a pretty intense Broadway phase in middle school, okay?) Enjolras tugs on Grantaire’s sleeve, preventing him from leaving. 

“How did you know what to do?” he asks. Grantaire raises one eyebrow. “I mean, what to say? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not good at picking up on social cues… and that was perfect. How you handled it.” 

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Grantaire admits. “I just… started talking. When I’m upset about whatever shit life chooses to throw at me, Eponine just talks about whatever and distracts me. So I just tried it with Courf, I guess.” Enjolras nods thoughtfully, then releases Grantaire’s sleeve. 

“You’re coming to the meeting,” he says, and it isn’t a question. Grantaire nods. Enjolras continues. “You need to give me the fliers. If you have them ready, of course. I know it takes some people a while to finish sketches-”

“No, I have them, don’t worry. I finished them a while ago actually.” Enjolras nods. There’s nothing else to say, and the silence is pressing down on them. Grantaire scuffs his heel on the ground, looking at his hands. “I gotta go,” he says, exiting quickly. 

 

Grantaire arrives to the meeting early, as usual. He stops in his tracks in the doorway, astonished at what he sees. Courfeyrac, Jehan, and Musichetta are sitting atop a table, construction paper hearts scattered around them. They’re laughing as they cut, fragments of paper littering the ground like snowflakes. Musichetta looks up and sees Grantaire. She waves, and Jehan and Courfeyrac look up too. Courfeyrac gives him a blinding smile. 

“Grantaire! Come cut with us,” he says, holding out a pair of scissors and a sheet of blinding fluorescent pink paper. Grantaire takes it and sits next to Jehan, beginning to cut.

“What exactly are we doing?” he asks. Jehan laughs. 

“We’re cutting out hearts so we can throw them on the floor like confetti. I came up with the idea,” he says, looking proud. “Courf’s finally going to ask out Combeferre.” Grantaire wolf-whistles. Musichetta laughs. 

“What are you going to say?” Grantaire asks, and Courfeyrac hums thoughtfully. 

“See, I don’t really know yet. I was thinking of saying like ‘I really like you, want to go out,’ but that’s kind of cliche, and I want it to be heartfelt… I was going to ask Jehan to write me a poem, but he said I should do it myself.” Courfeyrac casts a disdainful look at Jehan, who shrugs. “Do you have any ideas?” Grantaire shakes his head. He knows nothing about romance, and doesn’t want to screw up Courfeyrac’s chances by giving him advice that turns out to be complete shit. 

“Well, you should start thinking,” Jehan says slyly. “You’ll have to come up with something pretty special of your own to woo Enjolras.” Musichetta lets out a shriek. 

“You like Enj! Oh my  _ god,  _ I absolutely knew it! I was talking to Joly just the other day, and he said that he thought you did but didn’t want to ask, and oh my  _ god,  _ you guys would have such cute kids!” Grantaire laughs. 

“Musichetta, I hate to break it to you, but Enjolras doesn’t seem too interested in me.” Musichetta rolls her eyes. 

“Yeah, neither was Joly at first…” she raises her eyebrows suggestively. Jehan snorts. 

“What the  _ hell  _ is going on?” says a voice, and the four of them collectively swivel to the doorway where Enjolras stands, hands on hips, looking incredibly intimidating. Courfeyrac doesn’t seem fazed, however. 

“They’re helping me woo Ferre!” he chirps. “You can help too,” he sings, holding out a pair of scissors and some red construction paper. “See? It’s red! Your favorite…” He dangles the paper tantalizingly. Enjolras rolls his eyes, but allows a small smile to escape. 

“I’ll do  _ one. _ But that’s  _ it.  _ And then you guys are going to clean this  _ up. _ ” Jehan nods, looking slightly terrified. Enjolras takes the scissors and paper and starts to cut. 

“Oh, so does our fearless leader have a passion for romance after all?” Grantaire asks mockingly. 

“I want to help my friend,” Enjolras says in a clipped voice. “I have feelings, Grantaire. I’m human too.” Grantaire opens his mouth, then closes it again. Enjolras is cutting the paper furiously now, creating ragged edges. Musichetta is watching him, mouth open. She glances at Jehan, and they both shy away, picking scraps up form the table and walking to the garbage bin the corner. 

Courfeyrac doesn’t seem to notice this change in mood, too busy humming as he carefully cuts out a heart from purple cardstock. He finishes, and holds it up. 

“Beautiful!” he shouts. “Let us scatter them like leaves on the floor then; get to it guys!” Grantaire takes a handful- there really are a lot of them- and tries to arrange them as artistically as he can on the floor. Jehan and Musichetta have cleared the floor of scraps, and the overall effect is actually quite nice. Enjolras is looking at it with raised eyebrows. 

“So how exactly will this woo Combeferre?” he asks skeptically. 

“Well, you see,” Courfeyrac begins. “He will walk in, and see the hearts. I have a fake rose I’ve been keeping in my locker for emergencies, and I will be laying on the table, clutching it dramatically. I’ll ask him out, and he’ll say yes, and we’ll live happily ever after and have ten kids and we will be the first people you and Grantaire invite to your wedding!” Grantaire can feel the blood rushing to his face. Enjolras just looks confused. Courfeyrac keeps talking. “I need someone to be a lookout. When Combeferre gets here, start talking really loudly, so I know to get prepared.” Grantaire raises his hand. 

“I’ll do it,” he says. Courfeyrac beams. Grantaire quickly steps out into the hallway, grateful for the chance to leave the room. He breathes deeply, leaning against a row of lockers. He hears rustling from inside, and glances down the hall, spotting a familiar sweater vest. 

“Combeferre!” he shouts loudly. Combeferre waves to him awkwardly. “How are… things?” Grantaire asks, stalling for time. 

“Good?” Combeferre asks, smiling nervously. 

“Great, that’s awesome, I’m so glad,” Grantaire rambles. 

“Can I… I should probably…” Combeferre makes a gesture, trying to sidestep Grantaire and get into the room, but Grantaire blocks his way. 

“You’re in AP History, right?” Combeferre nods. “Boy, that was one hell of a test, huh?” He can still hear people moving inside the room, and continues to talk, louder now, to cover it up. “Monsieur Valjean really wants us to know this stuff, huh? Hey, that’s another thing- why are there so many French teachers at this school?” Combeferre shrugs. 

“I mean, Principal Javert’s French, so maybe that’s why… Hey, I needed to ask Enjolras something, so could I maybe…” He looks past Grantaire’s shoulder into the room hopefully. Grantaire doesn’t hear any movement coming from inside, so he steps to the left, giving Combeferre access to the room. 

“Sorry,” he says. Combeferre smiles at him, and glances inside. His hands fly up, covering his mouth. 

“Oh my god,” he says in a whisper, and Grantaire can see his smile behind his hands. Courfeyrac is standing in the center of the room, clutching a rose and beaming at Combeferre. His cheeks are red, and he keeps running his hand through his hair nervously. Combeferre takes a step into the room, laughing slightly. Courfeyrac takes a deep breath. 

“Combeferre,” he begins, and Combeferre walks a little closer. “I’m so sorry for how I acted these past months… I was so dumb. I like you a lot, like a  _ lot- _ ” 

“It’s true,” Musichetta calls from the back of the room. “He never shuts up about you!” Jehan nods in agreement. Enjolras is sitting on the table, smiling slightly as he watches his two best friends. Courfeyrac glares at them, but there’s no venom behind it. He’s too happy. 

“Anyway,” he continues. “I was wondering- do you maybe want to go out with me?” 

“Yes,” Combeferre whispers. “ _ Yes,  _ a thousand times yes.” Courfeyrac beams, running over to Combeferre. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and Combeferre nods his assent, stooping down slightly so that their lips meet. Musichetta whistles as Courfeyrac wraps his arms around Combeferre’s neck, the kiss growing more heated. 

“Get a room!” Grantaire calls, and Courfeyrac flips him off, never breaking the kiss. After what seems like eternity, they break apart, both beaming and blushing. Perfect timing actually, as Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly, Bahorel, Marius, Cosette, and Eponine enter the room. 

‘What the  _ fuck, _ ” Eponine states, glancing around at the hearts that litter the floor. The others seem to want to express a similar sentiment as they look around, mouths slightly open. Surprisingly, Marius seems to be the first to make the connection, glancing at the hearts and then at Courfeyrac and Combeferre. Grantaire had always thought that the boy was dumber than a bag of rocks, but maybe there’s hope for him yet. 

Cosette makes the connection next, and she squeals with excitement before running up to Combeferre and Courfeyrac and embracing them. 

“I was  _ wondering  _ when you two would finally get it together!” she says, grinning. “We had a betting pool, you know. I think Grantaire won.” Grantaire nods. 

“I lost,” Bossuet says glumly. “I  _ always  _ lose.” Joly snorts, and wraps his arm around his boyfriend. 

“You’re a winner to me,” he says cheesily, and Bossuet laughs, punching him playfully in the arm. 

“Thank  _ god, _ ” Bahorel says. “The constant pining was making me sick.” Feuilly nods in agreement.

“I almost called in sick today. I didn’t think I’d be able to take the angst.” Combeferre rolls his eyes, but Courfeyrac laughs. 

“Congrats guys,” Eponine says sincerely, and they smile at her. Enjolras coughs from the corner. 

“My dearest apologies for interrupting, but it would mean the absolute world to me if we could maybe start the meeting?” 

“Sorry,” Combeferre says, suddenly businesslike. He takes Courfeyrac’s hand and leads him to a seat at the table. Courfeyrac smiles at him, and he blushes. It’s sickeningly cute, and Grantaire wants to barf. 

“I retract my previous statement,” Bahorel says drily. “They’re going to be even worse now.” Feuilly nods in agreement as the two of them join the others around the table. Miracle of miracles, Grantaire winds up sitting next to Enjolras. This means that he gets an up-close view of his golden god as his eyes burn with fire as he talks about… something. Grantaire never really listens, too captivated by Enjolras. Grantaire maps out several sketches in his head, idly drawing with his fingers. The meeting is over all too soon. Grantaire shrugs on his coat asd Combeferre and Courfeyrac talk in whispers in the corner, probably organizing their date. He’s just about to tell Eponine that they’re leaving now, when he remembers the sketches. 

“Enjolras,” he says, tapping the blond’s shoulder. “I have the sketches.” Enjolras takes them gingerly, looking at the first one. 

The first one is Grantaire’s personal favorite. It’s of a spotlight, positioned at the bottom of the paper. The part of the paper that isn’t illuminated is in shadow, but with the illumination, you can see words, informing the reader of the club’s existence, where to find them, who to contact, and meeting times. 

The second one is simpler. There’s an American flag taking over the main part of the drawing, with words saying “Take Back Our America” written in the stripes. The necessary information is in the bottom corner. 

“Wow,” Enjolras breathes. “These are really good.” He looks up at Grantaire, eyes alight. “Have you ever thought of doing an exhibition somewhere? I know you’re younger and all, but some galleries accept that- you should look into it.” Grantaire smiles hesitantly. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “It- means a lot.” He looks back at Enjolras and something passes between them- this is their first real  _ moment,  _ something other than sarcasm and jokes. Enjolras nods, breaking the spell, businesslike once more. He hands the drawings back to Grantaire, and their fingers brush. Enjolras looks Grantaire dead in the eye. Opening his mouth slightly like he wants to say something, before closing it and pulling away. 

“I like the spotlight one,” he says, before walking out of the door. Grantaire stands there in his wake, dazed, unsure of what just happened, but knowing that it was something good. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually got this up on time! Go me! Next update will be Monday. Please leave comments and kudos!!! Ilysm


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Grantaire, I won’t be able to make it to the Glee marathon this weekend,” Courfeyrac says, catching up to Grantaire in the hallway on his way to lunch. Grantaire swivels around, eyes wide with panic.  
>  “What? Why?” Courfeyrac blushes.   
>  “Ferre and I have a date.”   
>  “Well, good for you I guess…” Grantaire is happy for Courfeyrac, sure, but at the same time… he’s going to be alone. In a house. Enjolras’s house. With Enjolras.

“Grantaire, I won’t be able to make it to the  _ Glee  _ marathon this weekend,” Courfeyrac says, catching up to Grantaire in the hallway on his way to lunch. Grantaire swivels around, eyes wide with panic.

“What? Why?” Courfeyrac blushes. 

“Ferre and I have a date.” 

“Well, good for you I guess…” Grantaire is happy for Courfeyrac, sure, but at the same time… he’s going to be alone. In a house.  _ Enjolras’s  _ house. With Enjolras. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Courfeyrac says, a grin lighting up his face. “But honestly? Don’t hate me, but I planned it this way. You guys alone watching  _ Glee?  _ I know you’ve never seen it, but there is  _ so much  _ romance in that show. Something is bound to happen.” Grantaire doesn’t necessarily agree with this logic, but hey, he isn't the one with a boyfriend. 

“You aren’t mad, right?” Courfeyrac looks anxious. 

“No, it’s fine. Maybe something will happen. Honestly, he doesn’t like me like that, but whatever.” Courfeyrac smiles. He’s been very smiley lately. Just then, Combeferre catches up to them. He slings an arm around Courfeyrac casually and smiles down at him. He’s been smiley lately too. The two of them are sickeningly cute, exchanging little touches and secret smiles whenever they see each other. Grantaire wishes he had something like that with Enjolras, but he knows that it’s just not going to happen. 

They enter the cafeteria, and sit down at their usual table. Courfeyrac and Combeferre no longer seem to know the meaning of personal space. Grantaire wonders if that’s what a relationship does to you. 

Enjolras looks disgusted by this when he walks into the room, electing to sit next to Grantaire instead of Combeferre. Grantaire takes note of the good six inches of space between him and Enjolras, smiling ruefully. 

“I take it you aren’t one for sweet romance,” Grantaire says, batting his eyelashes. Enjolras snorts. 

“No. Honestly, watching people date just disgusts me. I mean, I’m not opposed to dating anyone, but…”

“Yeah, I get it. They’re kind of… over the top.” Courfeyrac is now feeding Combeferre a piece of sushi, and Grantaire needs to look away for a moment so he is not in danger of throwing up. Enjolras wrinkles his nose, looking down at his burrito. 

“I’m not hungry anymore,” he says, wrapping the burrito back up.    
“Yeah, me neither,” Grantaire says. It’s silent for a while. Grantaire taps his fingers on the table nervously. He wishes he could talk to someone else, but Joly is nowhere to be found. “Where’s Joly?”

“Sick,” Enjolras replies. “Honestly, he’s probably fine. But he bases all of his diagnoses off of WebMD, so…” 

“He shouldn’t become a doctor anytime soon,” Grantaire supplies, and Enjolras nods.

“Precisely.” Courfeyrac and Combeferre are now making out like there is no tomorrow. Grantaire throws a carrot stick at them. 

“Get a room, losers!” he calls, and the two of them break apart, blushing furiously. Combeferre’s hair is sticking up at odd angles, and his glasses are slightly crooked. Courfeyrac’s lips and cheeks are very red, and he’s giggling. 

“If you guys could wait until you are in the privacy of your own home, that would be great,” Enjolras says drily. 

“Sorry Enj! We just can’t hold it in,” Courfeyrac says innocently. “I think you know how we feel,” he says winking, giving a not-so-subtle glance in Grantaire’s direction. Enjolras looks at him, confused.

“No, actually. I don’t.” Courfeyrac rolls his eyes.

“Well, I have a feeling you will very soon,” he says. Enjolras shrugs.

“Courfeyrac, sometimes you are incredibly vague.” Just then, the bell rings. Combeferre pulls Courfeyrac to his feet, and they exit the cafeteria hand in hand. Students are jeering at them, snickering behind cupped hands, but they don’t seem to mind. They only have eyes for each other. Enjolras minds, however. His hands clench into fists, and he is glaring at one of the biggest culprits. 

“Enjolras-” Grantaire starts, but Enjolras is already storming over to the table where Montparnasse and his friends all sit. Grantaire follows, hanging back. He can tell things are going to get physical. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ Parnasse,” Enjolras hisses. “Don’t bully my friends just because they’re dating.” Montparnasse gives Enjolras a lazy smile. 

“I don’t think I did anything of the sort,” he says. “I’m merely expressing my freedom of speech.”

“Don’t give me that,” Enjolras spits. “My friends are allowed to date whoever they want, and your bullshit opinion shouldn’t matter. Anyway, I see how you look at Jehan in English…” Enjolras trails off, smiling smugly, arms folded across his chest. Montparnasse’s mouth opens, then closes. He looks like a fish. Then, before he knows what is happening, Montparnasse’s hand is flying out, striking Enjolras across the face. 

Enjolras reels backwards, startled. His face contorts into one of pure rage, and it looks like it’s all he can do to not hit back. 

“I’m not going to hit you,” he whispers. “Because you don’t deserve that much attention. Because you don’t deserve my rage.” Montparnasse smiles, full of malice. 

“Then I guess it’ll just be me then,” he says, and proceeds to tackle Enjolras to the floor, punching every inch of him that he can reach. Grantaire is horrified, frozen to the ground, and he feels like it’s freshman year all over again, he’s powerless. He squeezes his eyes shut, and hears footsteps running towards where he’s standing. 

“Break it up!” someone shouts, and Grantaire opens his eyes to see Principal Javert pulling a bleeding Enjolras out from under a panting Montparnasse. 

“Both of you. Office. Now,” he growls, and walks away, confident that they will follow. Enjolras wipes some blood off his face with his sleeve. He walks over to Grantaire. 

“So, what the fuck was that?” Grantaire asks, trying to keep the hysteria out of his voice. Enjolras waves aside his concern.

“It was nothing. It’s happened before. Just- here’s my French homework. And my math homework. Can you deliver it to my teachers? I’m going to end up going home.”

“No shit,” Grantaire says flatly. Enjolras gives him a half smile. 

“I’ve gotten into fights with him before. You can still come over tomorrow for  _ Glee-  _ Courfeyrac won’t be there, just so you know. Date with Combeferre.” 

“I know,” Grantaire replies. Enjolras thrusts the homework into his hands and walks out of the cafeteria, head held high. Grantaire watches him go, almost in a trance. Shaking his head, he snaps out of it, and walks out of the cafeteria. He doesn’t go to class though. Instead, he goes to the nearest boy’s room and texts Courfeyrac. 

 

**R:** Enjolras got suspended

**Courf:** WTF WHY

**Courf:** was it Parnasse

**R:** yeah

**Courf:** fucking bitch

**R:** yeah I kno

**Courf:** anyway why r u txting? 

**Courf:** not that I mind, bio is sooooo boring

**R:** I need a backup plan

**Courf:** for what

**R:** for Enjolras

**Courf:** I thought my original plan was pretty good

**R:** but it’s me. why would he want to ever date me

**R:** we need like 4 backup plans

**R:** or maybe like 15

**Courf:** ok

**Courf:** i <33333 backup plans sm!!!!

**R:** you love anything now that ur with ferre

**Courf:** true

**Courf:** can I add him to this

**R:** go ahead, I’m gonna add ponine

**_Courf_ ** _ added  _ **_Ferre_ ** _ to the chat _

__ **_R_ ** _ added  _ **_Ponine_ ** _ to the chat _

 

__ **Ponine:** wtf is this

**R:** a chat

**Ponine:** no shit sherlock

**Ponine:** what is it for

**Courf:** we’re gonna get R a bf!!!

**Ferre:** Oh, he’s finally making his move?

**Courf:** he and Enj are watching glee tmrw

**Courf:** alone

**Courf:** in his house

**Courf:** ;)))))))))

**Ponine:** wait rlly

**R:** yeah

**Ferre:** Wow.

**R:** ikr

**R:** anyways, we need backup plans for if this doesn’t work

**Courf:** but all plans must go through me bc I am the Chief Matchmaker

**Ferre:** Wow, you actually capitalized that. It’s getting serious.

**Ponine:** what if you ask him to prom at the end of the yr

**R:** NO

**Courf:** um excuse me only I am allowed to veto suggestions

**Courf:** and I think that Eponine’s idea is not terrible

**Ponine:** someone appreciates me

**Ferre:** Enjolras doesn’t really ‘do’ prom. Not that I know, since this is the first year we’ve had it. But based on his stances on everything, I don’t think it’s really his speed. 

**R:** why is ur grammar so impeccable

**R:** even in txts

**Courf:** he’s just superior to all of us

**Courf:** and he’s MINE

**Courf:** <33333

**Ferre:** <3

**Ponine:** i gtg guys this has been chill but i would rather not fail math

**Courf:** byeeeeeeeeeee <333333333

**Ferre:** I should go too, my teacher is probably wondering why I’ve been in the bathroom for so long.

**Courf:** tell them you have irritable bowel syndrome

**Ferre:** No. 

**R:** ok so we have accomplished nothing

**Courf:** not to worry mon ami!!! I will devise a series of cunning plans and txt them to u later tonight (and they will all be better than Eponine’s) 

**R:** ok, thx

**R:** also i’m terrified for Enj’s glee thingy

**Courf:** just agree with whatever he says. it’s better than getting into an argument with him over how it’s unrealistic that Finn and Rachel get every solo

**R:** i have no idea what that means but ok

**Courf:** oh honey you have so much to learn

**Courf:** anyways I should pobs go so byeeeeeee

**R:** bye courf

 

Grantaire sets his phone down on the bathroom floor with a sigh, leaning his head against the cold tile wall. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, just that the bell rings after a while, jolting him out of his reverie. He scrambles to his feet, stuffing his phone into his pocket and running a hand through his hair. Tripping on his own feet, he opens the bathroom door, and immediately stumbles into someone, papers flying everywhere. 

“Shit, sorry,” he mutters, falling to his knees to help recover the scattered supplies. 

“It’s fine,” says a familiar voice, and he looks up to see Enjolras, who looks angrier than usual. Probably because of Grantaire. Enjolras sinks down as well, stuffing highlighted notes and scribbled papers into folders and binders. Grantaire watches him. His eyes are slightly red, like he’s been crying. Which makes no sense, because it’s  _ Enjolras.  _ He looks closer, searching for a hint of something in his eyes, but Enjolras stands up too quickly for Grantaire to glimpse anything other than the customary annoyance. Still, he wants to know. 

“You’re upset,” he says bluntly. Enjolras stills for a moment, looking at Grantaire before shaking his head and walking down the hallway, setting a fast pace. Grantaire follows him. 

“Enjolras, don’t ignore me. You’re upset. What happened?” Enjolras turns into the stairwell, feet echoing in the emptiness. Grantaire is surprised at how clear the stairwell is, but he supposes it’s every student’s mission to leave the school as fast as they can. Enjolras is taking the stairs fast, and he trips again, before Grantaire’s eyes, sending his newly organized papers flying yet again. Enjolras gazes at the scene for a moment before sitting back against the wall, eyes upturned to where Grantaire still stands, a flight of stairs above him. 

Grantaire walks down to where Enjolras sits, taking the spot next to him. “Enjolras,” he says. “Seriously.” Enjolras sighs, and turns to him. He looks vulnerable like this, all his walls broken, eyes burning into Grantaire’s. 

“I have three tests next week, all of which count for about twenty percent of my grade. Which would be fine, except I have no time to study since I’ve been non-stop planning for our rally in two weeks. Do you know how long it took me to get the town to see that fifteen minutes is not an acceptable time for a rally? So there’s that, and my driver’s test is next week, and I have zero practice hours, and am definitely going to fail that. Oh, also my parents are getting divorced.” 

Grantaire stares, open-mouthed. He had always assumed Enjolras lived this perfect life, things always falling into place because of his stubbornness and determination. He had never imagined that Enjolras could feel like any other student- overwhelmed and afraid. He shake his head slowly, trying to formulate words. 

“Wow,” is what he finally comes up with. He mentally slaps himself. “I mean, that’s a lot. Like, seriously. Um…” he has an offer, but doesn’t want to say it and risk Enjolras scoffing at him. What the hell. He decides to go for it. “I could help you study tomorrow. We don’t have to do the  _ Glee  _ thing.” Enjolras groans, burying his head in his hands. 

“I completely forgot about that,” he says. “I hope I didn’t schedule anything over it-” 

“No, it’s fine if you did, don’t worry, you’re stressed enough- but if you didn’t, we could study for some stuff instead. Or I could help you with driving, though with the amount of times I’ve taken my car to repairs, you might not want me as a teacher.” Enjolras gives a small laugh. 

“That sounds good, actually,” he says. “If I didn’t overschedule myself, that is. I’ll check when I get home, and text you once I know, if that’s okay.” Grantaire nods. Very enthusiastically. 

“Sounds good,” he says. “Also… I’m sorry about your parents. That sucks.” Enjolras gives him a humorless smile. 

“Well it’s better than them arguing all the time,” he says, getting to his feet and beginning to gather his books. Grantaire scrambles help him, grabbing a few pieces of paper and stuffing them into random folders. When they’ve cleaned up, Enjolras nods at Grantaire, and sets off once again, leaving Grantaire to stare after him and wonder if he had just imagined everything. 

 

Obviously, the second he gets home he texts the group chat that has now been named “Set Up R.”

 

**Set Up R**

 

**R:** change of plans for the glee marathon

**Courf:** PLEASE TELL ME ENJOLRAS WAS NOT A BITCH AND DIDNT FLAKE OUT ON YOU OMG DO I NEED TO GIVE HIM ANOTHER LECTURE

**R:** no

**Courf:** oh ok then what happened

**R:** it’s s study session instead. he was telling me abt how he had 3 tests nxt week and was gonna fail them since he didnt study so i offered to turn glee into a study thing

**Courf:** OMG THAT’S EVEN BETTER THAT WAS LEGIT THE PLAN C ON MY GOOGLE DOC FOR MATCHMAKING PLANS

**R:** fantastic

**Ponine:** where will you be studying exactly

**R:** his house?...

**Ponine:** yes but where in his house?

**R:** shit

**R:** fuck

**R:** what if we go in his room

**Ponine:** precisely

**R:** i will probably have a heart attack and die right there

**Ferre:** That’s not how heart attacks work. 

**R:** its called creative license

**Ponine:** lol ur problems amuse me

**R:** thanks for the sympathy, ep. 

**Ponine:** np!!

**Courf:** okokok everyone settle down

**Courf:** this is a problem for the resident chief matchmaker

**Courf:** oh wait THATS ME

**R:** ok so any solutions

**Ferre:** You could just offer to study in the living room or something. 

**Courf:** GOSH ferre please be REALISTIC

**Courf:** getting to enj’s room is the GOAL

**Courf:** they could FUCK TOMORROW

**Courf:** we just have to figure out a way to make that happen

**R:** no, nope, not a thing

**Courf:** what abt a heavy makeout session

**R:** what abt we focus on him actually liking me before we try to cover all the bases

**Courf:** oh ya that works too

**Ferre:** I could call him and ask. 

**R:** um

**Courf:** OMG YES THAT IS AN AMAZING IDEA I LOVE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW

**R:** ask him what exactly

**Ferre:** If he has feelings for you.

**R:** and how would that be phrased

**Ferre:** “Do you have feelings for Grantaire”

**R:** yes do it

**R:** wait no don’t

**R:** no go ahead

**R:** WAIT no

**Courf:** how abt we put it to a vote

**Ferre:** Well, shouldn’t it be mostly Grantaire’s decision?

**Courf:** STOP TRYING TO BE ALL RATIONAL FERRE LET US HAVE OUR DEMOCRACY STOP OPPRESSING OUR FREEDOM

**Courf:** so who votes that ferre calls enj?

**Ponine:** me

**Courf:** sameeeeee

**Ferre:** I think it’s a good idea, just to see where he stands. 

**Ponine:** the power of democracy

**R:** i hate you all

**Ponine:** <333333

**R:** when will this call happen exactly?

**R:** so i can mentally prepare myself

**Ferre:** Well, I don’t have enough time right now, I tutor a kid on Fridays at five, so I have to leave soon. But I could do it tomorrow, after the study date. 

**Courf:** ooh perfect 

**R:** ok bye gotta write my obituary

 

Grantaire shuts off his phone and falls back onto his bed dramatically, one arm covering his face. Courfeyrac would be so proud right now. 

He just can’t believe it. With the TV on, he and Enjolras had the opportunity to ignore each other, to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. With studying… well, it’s not so easy to ignore the fact that it’s just the two of them, no other friends to act as buffers. They’ve never been alone together like that. Grantaire isn’t nervous, he’s terrified. 

He needs something to wear. He looks for the green shirt he wore to Courf’s party, thinking he can wear that, but one sniff tells him that it is definitely not an option. There is literally nothing else except for black t-shirts, some paint-stained, some not, and hoodies in assorted colors and sizes. Nothing very flattering. Not on him, anyway. Courfeyrac could pull off a trash bag, but Grantaire definitely does not have that type of confidence or charisma. Or looks. 

He stands in front of the mirror, looking at himself. He supposes he isn’t entirely hideous. His eyes are nice- they’re green, and he has dark lashes that only serve to accentuate their color. His hair is a complete disaster, sticking up in every imaginable direction, and his nose is a little crooked. He doesn’t know why, it’s just always been like that. He covers his face. What is he supposed to do? He’s infatuated with a boy who can hardly stand him- who will  _ never  _ want him, and why can’t he just accept that? He’s not worth it, not worth anyone’s time or pain or anything at all. 

He stares mournfully into the depths of his closet, hoping for a second miracle like the one with the green shirt. But nothing happens. Then his phone buzzes, and he practically breaks a bone in his haste to check it.

 

**Enjolras:** Are we still on for the studying tomorrow?

**R:** ya

**Enjolras:** I live at 232 Corinthe Ave

**R:** cool what time

**Enjolras:** Does 11 work?

**R:** i have no life

 

There’s a pause after he sends this last text, and Grantaire worries he’s sent the wrong text. 

 

**Enjolras:** That can’t be true. 

**R:** well it is

**Enjolras:** But you have your art and your friends. You have a life. 

**R:** nobody wants to hang out with me and i dont blame them tbh

**R:** i’m not worth it

 

Grantaire isn’t really sure why he’s venting all his personal feelings to Enjolras, via text no less, but it feels kind of good. 

 

**Enjolras:** Everyone is worth it. 

**R:** ...except me

**R:** you cant save everyone enjolras. ill be there tomorrow at 11

**Enjolras:** Can you just stop? All you ever say is self-deprecating shit, and I’m just sick of it. You’re worth a lot more than you think you are Grantaire. You may not realize it, since you literally have no beliefs, but everyone is worth something. 

**R:** i believe in you

**Enjolras:** That’s what you say, but honestly? I’m having trouble believing that. You are incapable of breathing, of thinking, of living, of dying. 

**R:** you will see

**Enjolras:** Only if you actually get up the nerve to actually do something with your life. 

 

Grantaire switches off his phone. That’s it. He is officially pissed, and he needs to stop texting before he says something he regrets. But he can’t. With a growl, he enters his password and gets back to the chat. 

 

**R:** oh look whos fucking talking. you think you can actually make a difference with your idiotic club preaching ideals that nobody in our stupid redneck town will ever entertain even for a second

**Enjolras:** At least I try. At least I want to make a difference. At least I actually want to do something with my life instead of criticizing everything everyone else does. 

 

This is it. All of their unresolved conflict from that first meeting so long ago is coming out now, in an onslaught of texts. 

 

**R:** if im so worthless, why do you even bother talking to me

**Enjolras:** That’s a great question. 

 

Grantaire doesn’t respond to that. 

Enjolras has hit him where it hurts, one of his biggest fears, that nobody needs him, that nobody wants to be friends with him, that people question why they bother with him on a daily basis. But he doesn’t want things to be like this. He hates that this is all Enjolras thinks he is- that this is all he has been for so long. Maybe he never really got over all of the bullying in freshman year. 

He wonders if the study session is still on. Fuck it, he decides. He’s going to show up anyway. It’s going to be awkward as all hell, but he can’t let Enjolras hate him. He needs him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the amount of texting, but it just kinda happened? Anyway, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Chapter 7 will be up next Monday!!! Please leave comments and kudos!! Ilysm <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you here,” Enjolras hisses, and it isn’t a question. Anger simmers inside of Grantaire. They have both said cruel things to each other, attempting to hit where it hurt. But that was just it. They had both done it, and Enjolras has no right to act like the victim, looking all self-righteous, arms crossed, staring at Grantaire as though Grantaire had just killed his cat.

Grantaire stands outside of Enjolras’s door, shivering in the cold air. He’s decided, after much thought and a lot of texting on the group chat, to go to the study session he and Enjolras had scheduled before, despite their argument. They haven’t texted at all since last night, but Grantaire is here anyway, working up the courage to ring the doorbell. 

He was still pissed, obviously. And Eponine had said that he had every right to be. Enjolras had said some extremely insensitive things, and Grantaire wasn’t sure if he could forgive him. He could try though. 

Grantaire had been surprised when he drove up to discover that Enjolras’s house was… normal. It seemed like Enjolras would live in a mansion, or maybe a yurt, or somewhere else that would look incredibly out of place in their suburban neighborhood. Instead, Enjolras lives in a blue house with a white wrap around porch. It’s bigger than average, sure, but definitely nothing to write home about. 

Grantaire presses the little white button, and hears chimes echo throughout the house. He hears the turn of the lock, and then the door swings open to reveal Enjolras standing there, clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants. His face goes from confused to surprised to angry in about a second. Grantaire meets his gaze.

“Why are you here,” Enjolras hisses, and it isn’t a question. Anger simmers inside of Grantaire. They have both said cruel things to each other, attempting to hit where it hurt. But that was just it. They had  _ both  _ done it, and Enjolras has no right to act like the victim, looking all self-righteous, arms crossed, staring at Grantaire as though Grantaire had just killed his cat. 

“I’m here,” Grantaire begins, keeping his voice steady, “because we made an agreement. And even though I have no beliefs and care about nothing, I stick to an agreement.” Enjolras doesn’t move, eyes narrowed slightly as though he’s trying to figure Grantaire out. “It’s rather cold out here, and I’d love it if I could come in,” he says, and Enjolras shifts to one side, allowing Grantaire to squeeze through the space in the doorway. 

He enters a small hallway. Just ahead of him, he sees a flight of stairs, leading up to the shadowy mystery of the second floor. To his right, there’s the family room. A navy sectional sits against the wall, a cozy-looking blanket crumpled up on top of it next to a face-down book. On the side table is a piece of toast, only a few bites taken out of it, and a mug of coffee. Evidently, Enjolras had not believed he would show up. 

The door shuts behind him, and Enjolras is looking at him, arms still crossed. 

“I understand that I may have said some things that I shouldn’t have said,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras looks satisfied for a moment. “But you did too.” The satisfied look slips away. 

“All I did was tell the truth,” Enjolras spits. “You’re a cynic who believes in nothing- that much is apparent. In meetings, you hardly even listen. Why did you even join? All you do is destroy the morale of the group.”

“All I do is show them that the world isn’t all ponies and rainbows,” Grantaire fires back, and it feels so good to argue face to face, rather than be forced to type it all out on a tiny keyboard. “You have so many unrealistic expectations, and you should know that the world isn’t always like that. People aren’t always good, not everyone can be changed for the better, and the world isn’t going to change its mind on controversial issues just because you and a bunch of other people waved some signs around, and the sooner you realize that, the better.” Enjolras looks livid, and Grantaire flashes back to their first meeting, when they’d argued about almost the exact same thing. He grins in spite of himself.

“All I want to do- all I’ve ever wanted to do- is change the world. It needs to start small though, I know that much. This group is letting me do that, Grantaire. You may not feel like the world is worth saving, but I do. Stop trying to impose your cynical beliefs on everyone.”

“You’re such a hypocrite! Don’t you see that that’s exactly what you’re doing right now? You’re trying to convert me to be an idealist to the point of ignorance- just like you. I said some shitty things last night, but you did too, and you need to own up to it instead of just attacking me for presenting an alternative view that doesn’t align with what you believe. Though,” he adds, “You probably don’t care about my opinion, since judging by the texts you sent last night, you have no idea why you even put up with me.” Grantaire is breathing heavily, all traces of control completely gone. Enjolras looks like he’s been struck by lightning. Grantaire supposes the suggestion that he’s being close-minded is a great blow to him, but it’s true. Enjolras takes a deep breath.

“Fine,” he says, and Grantaire can  _ see  _ the effort it takes to say that single word. “I said things last night that were better unsaid. But I am  _ not-  _ and will never be- ignorant.  _ Never  _ call me that again. And I’m not trying to impose my ‘idealism to the point of ignorance’ on you-” Enjolras’s face twists up at the word ‘ignorance’- “I’m trying to show you that the world isn’t as terrible as you make it seem. Also-” he hesitates here- “That was a lie. I enjoy hearing your arguments, because I enjoy disproving them. And, Grantaire- I don’t ‘put up with you.’ I enjoy your company.” Grantaire has been stunned into silence. He knows that this is the closest thing to an apology he is going to get, since Enjolras seems determined to stay true to his side of the debate. Enjolras is looking at him, his face inscrutable. Grantaire realizes he’s waiting for a response. 

“Oh,” he finally says, and wants to hit himself. Is that seriously all he can come up with? “Um, I enjoy your company too, I guess,” he adds. He still wants to hit himself, but slightly less. Enjolras nods, presumably taking that as an apology. 

“Good,” he says. “So maybe we could actually study now?” he asks, giving Grantaire an  _ incredibly  _ hot smile. Grantaire dies a little inside. 

“Y-yeah,” he replies, following Enjolras up the stairs. Their feet make almost no noise on the fluffy carpet, and Grantaire feels like he’s in heaven. Enjolras  _ enjoys his company,  _ and he’s in his  _ house,  _ going up to his  _ room.  _ Of course, this could be considered heaven or hell depending on how you choose to look at it, but Grantaire is feeling uncharacteristically optimistic at the moment. Enjolras opens a door and steps inside, motioning for Grantaire to follow. 

The room he walks into is a complete mess. Books lay face-down on the soft gray carpet, and the desk is piled with notebooks and binders. It appears as though Enjolras had attempted to organize them somehow, but had given up halfway through. The burgundy sheets (what is Enjolras’s strange obsession with the color red?) are half on the bed, half off, and clothes are thrown carelessly over the back of the desk chair. 

“It’s kind of messy,” Enjolras says, frowning slightly as if only just now realizing this. Grantaire isn’t really listening; his eyes have found a corkboard at the back of the room with dozens of photos pinned to it. He examines them all. Most of them are photos of Enjolras with Courfeyrac or Combeferre or both of them, and Grantaire feels a pang of jealousy at their closeness. He’s looking at a particularly glorious picture of Bahorel, wearing polka dotted boxers, a pink training bra, and roller skates, posing like a model about to walk the runway, when he sees the edge of a faded photo peeking out from under it. He pulls it out. It’s of Enjolras and his parents. Enjolras looks about five in this, giving the camera a gap-toothed smile, a duplicate of his mom, who is wearing a navy pantsuit and giving the holder of the camera a stern look, as though admonishing it for taking the photo at this particular time. Enjolras’s dad has a smile that matches Enjolras’s beam, not faked at all. Grantaire stares at it for a moment, before registering that Enjolras is saying something. 

“Sorry,” Grantaire replies hastily, but Enjolras is walking over and taking the photo from him, looking at it with nostalgia, and a little bit of anger. 

“Ah. As you may have guessed, that’s my mom and dad. I barely even see my dad anymore- even though the divorce just became official, I only ever saw him once a month, if that.” He swallows thickly, before carefully replacing the photo. Grantaire watches his face as he does so, and if you were to ask him later, he would swear that he saw a tear glisten in Enjolras’s eye- but it’s gone before he can take a closer look.

“If it makes you feel any better, I barely see either of my parents. They have crazy hours for work- they leave the house at about five in the morning and come back at, like, ten. They’re too tired to talk to me. I painted my room orange about three years ago to try and get them to notice- it didn’t work.” Enjolras touches Grantaire’s shoulder gently, a show of sympathy. Grantaire looks at him, and something passes between them.  _ Holy shit.  _ What is happening? Grantaire continues talking, trying to dispel the tension that has appeared from nowhere. “They don’t think I’m worth their time, I guess.” He knows right away that that was the wrong thing to say. Enjolras’s eyes start to burn with a familiar fire, and Grantaire braces himself. 

“They’re wrong,” Enjolras spits out, grip tightening involuntarily on Grantaire’s shoulder. “And they’ve led you to believe that they’re right. Maybe that’s why you’re so cynical, why you can’t see the good in everyone.” Grantaire has never thought about it like that before. Maybe he’s right. “You  _ are  _ worth it, Grantaire,” Enjolras says quietly. “I’ve only known you for a few months, and even  _ I  _ can tell.” Grantaire feels like he might cry. He sneaks a glance at Enjolras, only to see that the fire in his eyes has grown stronger. This makes him feel even worse. Enjolras’s fire- his passion, his determination to make people see the worth in things, is too good for Grantaire. Enjolras shouldn’t waste it on someone who can’t be helped.

“Right,” Grantaire says, looking away quickly, totally  _ not  _ blinking back tears. “Let’s study, yeah?” Enjolras nods his assent, moving away and picking up some papers off the floor and handing them to Grantaire. 

The study time passes quickly, much to Grantaire’s surprise. Enjolras is a fast learner, and is amazing at recalling names and dates. Grantaire quizzes him until Enjolras can get every question right in his sleep, and then he sets the notes down on top of a notebook. 

“That was great,” he says, and Enjolras nods. 

“Thank you for this,” he says. “I’ll definitely pass now.” Grantaire smiles, and Enjolras jolts, as if realizing something. 

“Crap, did you want something to eat or drink? You must be parched.”

“Actually, yeah. Water sounds good, if that’s okay.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t,” Enjolras says, hopping off the bed. “Follow me.” They descend the stairs, and walk into a spotless kitchen. Enjolras takes two glasses from a cabinet, filling one with water and another with iced tea. He inclines his head, gesturing to a breakfast nook in the corner that Grantaire had failed to notice. Grantaire hastily takes a seat, and Enjolras hands him the water. He takes a big gulp, allowing the cool liquid to soothe his parched throat. 

“Do you want to FaceTime Courf? Their date should be over by now, we can see how it went.” Grantaire nods hastily, pushing his glass aside. “Here, sit next to me,” Enjolras says, sliding over. “It’ll be easier.” Grantaire takes a seat next to Enjolras hesitantly, breathing in sandalwood and mint toothpaste and coffee and Enjolras. How the hell can a teenage boy smell so good? It’s against the laws of nature. 

“FaceTime Courfeyrac,” Enjolras commands Siri, and the phone immediately complies. Courfeyrac picks up immediately. He’s smiling, as usual, and starts talking the second he picks up. 

“Oh my  _ god,  _ Enj, the date was awesome, as usual, and I just- wait, is that Grantaire?” Grantaire waves, and Enjolras shifts the camera, propping it up against his glass so that they are both in the frame. Courfeyrac wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Grantaire gives him the finger. 

“So, enough about me, what have you two been up to, all alone?”

“We’re studying, for one thing. Secondly, what are you implying?” Enjolras asks indignantly. “Grantaire and I are not involved in any sort of affair.” Courfeyrac shrugs.

“If that’s what you want to believe,” he says, winking. Grantaire buries his face in his hands. 

“Oh, Grantaire, Combeferre wants to know if you still want to do the thing?” Grantaire raises his head to look at Courfeyrac questioningly. “You know, the  _ thing. _ ” Courfeyrac mimes a phone call, and Grantaire remembers the phone call to Enjolras that Combeferre had offered to make. 

“Oh. Right. That. Um, yeah, okay, sure. Why not?” Courfeyrac beams. 

“Perfect. Well, I suppose I’d better go leave you two lovebirds alone… let all that sexual tension sort itself out.” He winks again, and hangs up before Enjolras or Grantaire can respond. Grantaire opens his mouth, then closes it again, at a loss for words. They sit there uncomfortably for a few more seconds, before the silence is broken. 

“What’s the  _ thing _ ?” Enjolras asks curiously, putting the same emphasis on the word that Courfeyrac had. 

“Oh, that?” Grantaire asks, mind racing to come up with a suitable response. “It’s, um…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Enjolras says, taking a sip of his iced tea. “You’re entitled to your privacy.” Grantaire nods, looking down into the depths of his glass. He feels insanely awkward, just sitting here while Enjolras asks questions about things Grantaire can’t give answers to, not to him at least. 

“I need to go actually,” he says suddenly, his words coming out in a rush. Enjolras looks surprised for a second, and Grantaire feels like an idiot. Hadn’t he just said he had no life? “It’s Eponine, she texted me and she wants me to watch her brother for a while… so…” He feels guilty for lying, but he is physically incapable of staying in this house for another second. 

“Okay,” Enjolras says. They get up and walk to the front door. Enjolras holds it open.

“Thanks,” Grantaire says quietly. Enjolras gives him a nod. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras calls as Grantaire is halfway down the steps. Grantaire turns around to see Enjolras standing in the doorway, shifting uncomfortably. “This was nice.” Grantaire nods in agreement, before turning around and bolting to his car, grinning uncontrollably. 

“Hey Siri,” he calls, and his phone lights up. “Call Courf.”

“Calling Courf,” his phone says, and Courfeyrac picks up on the second ring. 

“Are you getting laid?” is Courfeyrac’s immediate response. Grantaire rolls his eyes. 

“No.”

“Then why did you even call me?”

“He said… it was nice. Hanging out.” Courfeyrac shrieks.

“I  _ knew  _ it! Oh my  _ gosh,  _ he is in love with you! Okay, okay, so Ferre needs to call, like, right this very second! Ferre! Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” Grantaire hears Combeferre sigh. “I’ll call now. He’ll be on speaker so Grantaire can listen in.” 

“Oh my  _ gosh,  _ this is so exciting!” Courfeyrac sings. “Wait, Grantaire, why don’t you come over? I live, like, a block away from Enj- the white house with the blue door.” Grantaire happens to be passing that very house at the moment, and stops outside, throwing open the car door and bounding up the walkway to the doorbell, which he presses eagerly. He hears footsteps, and then Courfeyrac is flinging open the door, phone still in hand. He ends the call, and escorts Grantaire inside to his bedroom, where Combeferre is sitting on a squishy beanbag chair, looking incredibly amused.

Courfeyrac’s bedroom is bright and cluttered, like Enjolras’s, but more… Courfeyrac. There are a bunch of succulents sitting on the windowsill and on the desk, in clusters on top of books and CD cases. Courfeyrac’s MacBook is open on the bed, next to a bunch of throw pillows. Grantaire sees a WikiHow site that reads “How To Get Your Friends Together,” and rolls his eyes. The walls are white, but covered with posters for TV shows and Broadway musicals, as well as photos of Courfeyrac with various people. Grantaire sits on the desk chair, careful not to disturb the two succulents that have already claimed that spot (why are there so  _ many? _ ) and looks at Combeferre, tapping his foot and fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie. 

“Okay, so, do any of you want food? We need to be properly nourished for this- this is an incredibly daunting task!” Grantaire shakes his head numbly. Courfeyrac continues. “Okay, everyone shut up and calm down-”

“You’re literally the only one talking,” Combeferre interrupts, and Courfeyrac shoots him a glare. 

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, everyone needs to stay calm and shut up! We  _ cannot  _ let Enjolras know that there are other people in the room, or all of our hard work will be ruined forever!” Combeferre rolls his eyes. 

“Can I make the call?” Courfeyrac nods, settling himself on the bed and hugging a throw pillow to his chest. Combeferre taps the screen, and soon Grantaire hears Enjolras’s voice. He sounds annoyed, though that’s nothing new. 

“Combeferre? You never call me, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Combeferre says. “I was just calling to… you know… talk.” Courfeyrac muffles his laughter with the pillow.  _ Combeferre is an awful liar,  _ he mouths to Grantaire, who mouths back  _ I can kind of tell.  _

“Okay…” Enjolras says slowly. “What do you want to talk about?”

“The usual… school, the club- oh, hey, what do you think of Grantaire?”

“What do I think of- what are you trying to do?”

“Nothing! But what do you think of him? Courfeyrac said-”

“Why are you listening to  _ Courfeyrac?”  _

“But he said-”

“Courfeyrac exaggerates things sometimes,” Enjolras says, and he sounds… defensive, almost. 

“Hesaiditlookedlikeyoulikehim,” Combeferre says quickly, so as not to be interrupted onee more. There’s silence on the other end. 

“Enjolras?” Combeferre says hesitantly. 

“Yes, I’m still here,” Enjolras says. 

“Do you?”

“Do I  _ what,  _ Combeferre, you’re speaking in half sentences. I never figured you, of all people would come to this… it must come from dating Courfeyrac.” 

“Do you have feelings for Grantaire?”

“I have feelings  _ for  _ and  _ about  _ everything, you of all people should know that.” Combeferre lets out an irritated huff. 

“Do you have a crush on Grantaire, Enjolras?” The line goes quiet again.

“No. Why?”

Grantaire feels like someone has just kicked him in the gut. The blatant confusion with which the question had been asked proves everything he had been thinking all along. Enjolras would never even  _ consider  _ noticing someone like Grantaire. The fact that people were asking this golden god if he had feelings for  _ Grantaire  _ was almost laughable. Well, at least he knew now.

“It just… seems like you do sometimes. I mean, it took almost a year before you felt comfortable enough with me to hang out one-on-one, but with Grantaire it only took a few months.”

This is new information, but it doesn’t make Grantaire feel any better. Enjolras responds quickly.

“I- Grantaire is nice. He’s good to talk to when he isn’t being completely cynical and contradicting everything I stand for. But even when he is, I like to listen. It helps me figure out how I can have better arguments so I can convince people like him that the world isn’t all bad. He isn’t bad-looking, either. But I don’t have feelings for him. Today was a study session, that’s all. Don’t make it into something it’s not. Even though...” 

“Even though?” Combeferre prompts. 

“Ferre- is anyone else there?” Enjolras sounds anxious. Combeferre shakes his head before remembering that Enjolras can’t see him. 

“No,” he replies, quite calmly given the circumstances. 

“I was talking to him about some stuff that was just stressing me out, and today too. And he seemed like he just understood it. No offense to you or Courf, but nobody has ever made me feel like that.”

Courfeyrac lets out a small squeak and quickly covers his mouth. But it’s too late. The damage has been done. 

“What was that?” Enjolras asks. 

“Um, just my… blender.”

“Why is your blender making groaning sounds?”

“It’s broken?” It sounds like a question, and Courfeyrac’s face is so red he looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust. Enjolras heaves a sigh on the other end of the line. 

“Courf, I know you’re there.” Courfeyrac, to his credit, does not make a sound. “I’m going to hang up now. I don’t know why you’re asking me this, but if you are planning on making it seem like I said something that I did  _ not  _ say, I will sneak into both of your houses in the middle of the night and break both of your coffeemakers and steal Courf’s collection of original Broadway cast recordings.” Courfeyrac looks horrified.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he practically shrieks, and Grantaire can almost  _ hear  _ Enjolras’s satisfied smirk. 

“I knew you were there,” he says smugly. “And I was serious about the cast recordings.” He hangs up. Combeferre looks at Grantaire.

“Well, we got information,” he says slowly. Grantaire is too stunned to move. He feels- well, he doesn’t even know how he feels, to be honest. He had thought Enjolras despised him. He hadn’t wanted to admit this, even to himself, but he had thought that Enjolras seemed a bit of a hypocrite, claiming to be open-minded but then refusing to listen to other people’s viewpoints. But now he sees that everything he had thought is wrong. 

“I think he’s broken.” Courfeyrac’s voice startles him, and he looks up. 

“I just- I need to go home,” he says, and his voice is hoarse and tired. Combeferre nods, but Courfeyrac looks devastated. 

“What?! Why? This is the best part!”

“I’m just tired. I’ll see you guys on Monday.” He gives them a slight smile before exiting Courfeyrac’s room and trudging down the stairs to the front door. He walks down the steps without looking back, and drives away.

 

Once he’s home and shut away in his room, he calls Eponine. She picks up remarkably fast. 

“What do you want?” she asks, but not in a rude way. Grantaire smiles. It feels so good just to hear her voice. 

“I just-” he begins, and tells her everything, from he and Enjolras’s argument to their FaceTime call with Courfeyrac, to Combeferre’s phone call. When he’s finally finished, almost thirty minutes have gone by. Eponine is silent for a moment, and he can hear her breathing quietly on the other end of the line. 

“Wow,” she finally says. “You’re having quite the day.”

“I know, right?” he replies. “I’m exhausted.” He already feels so much better. Just having someone listen to him vent and ask all of his questions that have no answers makes him feel as though he has released a weight from his shoulders. 

“Well,” Eponine begins, and Grantaire adjusts his position on his bed, knowing that he’s going to be here a while. “I think that Enjolras… is a little socially awkward.” This comes as a complete shock to Grantaire 

“What do you mean?” he asks, confused. “He talks in front of us all the time… Feuilly told me about all the rallies he’s spoken at.” 

“Yeah, but when it comes to  _ actually  _ dealing with people, he just doesn’t know what he’s doing. I don’t think he really understands feelings that well, you know? From what you told me, it sounds like he doesn’t know where you really stand in terms of how he feels about you.” 

“I mean, I didn’t think he considered me a friend at all until today,” Grantaire says. “But, like, apparently he does? I don’t know…” he trails off. 

“The way he described you? That didn’t sound very friend-like at all, if you get what I mean,” Eponine replies, sounding like she’s suppressing laughter. 

“Honestly, I’ll take what I can get. But I’m just… confused, I guess. He acts like he can’t stand me, but vents all this personal shit to me and talks about me like that to Combeferre… what the fuck does it all  _ mean _ ?” 

“I mean, you aren’t exactly the nicest to him either,” Eponine reasons. Grantaire realizes that she’s right. Their constant bickering isn’t just a one-way street- Grantaire provokes Enjolras just as much as Enjolras provokes Grantaire, if not more. It’s a constant push-pull with the two of them- they're complete opposites. 

“I will take your silence to mean that you have realized that I am right, and my superior intellect has caused you to have some sort of divine realization,” Eponine says, and Grantaire smiles. 

“Shut up,” is the only thing he can come up with. Eponine laughs, then gets suddenly serious. 

“Grantaire, listen. You talk shit about yourself  _ all the time.  _ You don’t think you’re worth anyone’s time or feelings or whatever. But you  _ are.  _ Any guy or girl would be lucky to be with you. And I think Enjolras knows that. Actually, scratch that.  _ Everyone  _ knows that, except for you.” 

“But it’s the  _ truth,  _ Ponine. I’m a cynic who’s failing, like, three classes-”

“-because you just don’t bother to show up-” 

“-and who has a huge crush on the one guy who would never like me back. Also, you’re starting to sound like Enjolras, with the whole ‘you’re worth it’ thing.” 

“Hey, you’re the one who basically told him you believed in nothing but him, like, the first time you met him, so…” 

“Shut up.” Eponine laughs again at this, before saying goodbye and hanging up. Grantaire lays in the bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time. Today has been a whirlwind of ups and downs- and after all this, Grantaire still isn’t sure where he stands with Enjolras. He stays like this for so long that he falls asleep, and dreams of succulents and photographs and blue eyes that burn like the sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I know I told some people in the comments that this chapter would be really fluffy so... sorry about that lol  
> Please leave comments and kudos they keep me alive and mean so much!!! Chapter 8 will be up next Monday   
> Also the current estimation for this fic is 12 chapters, but everything is subject to change


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay. Now. At lunch today, Ferre, Joly, and I are going to all be conveniently seeing teachers for help with classwork-”  
>  “No- Courf, please-”  
>  “-and you’re going to talk to Enjolras, because this pent-up sexual tension is going to be the death of me.” Courfeyrac gives Grantaire a cheery wave, and runs over to Combeferre, presumably telling him about his plan.

Finally, finally,  _ finally,  _ it’s Monday. When Grantaire’s alarm goes off, he slams his hand down onto it, hopping out of bed with a smile. He’s incredibly sleep deprived, but, at that moment, he doesn’t care. He’s washed the green shirt from Courfeyrac’s party in preparation for seeing Enjolras. He pulls it over his head, running a hand through his hair to smooth it down slightly. He pulls on a pair of black skinny jeans that he’s never worn before, judging by the lack of rips and paint stains. The amount of black skinny jeans he owns is frighteningly large, and he doesn’t even want to know what Courfeyrac would say about that. 

He brushes his teeth and splashes some water on his face. He glances at the mirror, and actually doesn’t mind what he sees. He eats an  _ incredibly  _ healthy breakfast consisting of half a chocolate bar and a glass of orange juice, and is just settling down on his couch to scroll through Instagram when he hears two quick beeps outside his house. He looks out the window to see Eponine’s car, and runs outside, door banging behind him. It’s pouring outside, and Grantaire wishes he had an umbrella, but he’s a disorganized mess, so really, what can you expect? 

He attempts to get into the passenger seat, but is stopped when he realizes that Combeferre has taken up residence there. 

“Sorry,” Eponine says, looking not at all sorry, “but they needed a ride so…” Grantaire huffs, and sits in the back, next to Courfeyrac, who looks far too awake for this hour. 

“Gran- _ taire _ !” he sings, and Grantaire rolls his eyes and tries to scoot further away, brushing a soaking wet curl out of his eye. “You look  _ lovely  _ today! Another attempt to seduce Enjolras, hmm?” 

“Fuck off, it’s too early for this,” Grantaire mutters. He can only look at Courfeyrac out of the corner of his eye, since he’s wearing a  _ bright yellow shirt  _ and seriously, there should be a law against wearing bright clothes this early in the morning. Not that he wants Courfeyrac to strip… he shudders at the thought. Better save that for Ferre. He shudders at that too, and decides that maybe his mind shouldn’t be allowed to think when he’s this sleep deprived. 

“Grantaire, we need to talk about your plan, because it really doesn’t seem like you have one, which makes me incredibly sad being as I shared a lovely Google Doc with you that has exactly thirteen plans for seducing Enjolras.”

“How many involve glitter?” Grantaire asks, slightly worried. 

“Not that many!...” Courfeyrac replies indignantly, pulling his phone from his pocket and tapping on it quickly. “...anymore,” he finishes, and Grantaire snorts. 

“Glitter aside,” Combeferre begins, “have you considered maybe just… telling him how you feel?” 

“Um-”

“No, no, and no. That is the worst idea I’ve heard, like,  _ ever, _ ” Courfeyrac says, interrupting Grantaire. Grantaire can practically  _ hear  _ Combeferre roll his eyes. 

“You  _ literally  _ told me how you felt, and it worked, did it not?”

“You didn’t believe me at first and made me cry, did you not?” The car is silent for a moment, as Combeferre digests this. 

“You have a point,” he says finally, and Courfeyrac grins triumphantly. Eponine is struggling to hold back laughter. 

“Wait!” Courfeyrac shrieks, causing Eponine to narrowly avoid hitting an old lady walking on the side of the road. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ why isn’t she on the sidewalk, it’s a perfectly fine fucking sidewalk, holy  _ shit  _ Courfeyrac you can’t just fucking  _ shriek  _ like that…” her rant dissolves into a string of curse words muttered under her breath, and Courfeyrac looks sheepish, but only for a moment. 

“But look- there’s Enjolras!” Courfeyrac points out of his window, and sure enough, there’s Enjolras, typing furiously on his phone as he walks down the sidewalk, messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He doesn’t have an umbrella or a hood, and looks a little like a wet kitten. 

“Courfeyrac- no-” Grantaire hisses, but Courfeyrac is already rolling down his window.

“Enjolras! Hey!  _ Enjolras! _ ” Enjolras looks up, and sees Courfeyrac waving. He waves 

back, smiling slightly. Grantaire hopes that this will be the end of it, but sometimes Eponine is too nice for her own good. She pulls her car over to the curb and rolls down her window as well. 

“Get in,” she commands, and Enjolras looks startled. He’s evidently not used to people ordering him around, and Grantaire snickers at the look on his face. Courfeyrac opens his door and jumps out of the seat, gesturing to the car with a flourish and tipping an imaginary cap. 

“Your chariot awaits, monsieur,” he says, and Enjolras climbs in to the back, sliding in next to Grantaire, who attempts to surreptitiously sniff his armpits to make sure that he applied deodorant this morning. He concludes that yes, he did, but he doesn’t think the investigation was really worth it judging by the puzzled expression on Enjolras’s face as he notices Grantaire’s bizarre positioning. All seems to be forgotten, however, as Courfeyrac slips back in to the car, slamming the door behind him, and Enjolras leans up to Eponine. 

“Thank you so much,” he says. “I lost my umbrella- I have no idea how, it’s literally bright red, and I’m grounded since the fight at school so I can’t use my car.” Eponine smiles, but her gaze is directed at Grantaire. 

“No problem,” she says, and then she has the  _ audacity  _ to  _ wink _ . Grantaire gives her a withering glare, but she only laughs and turns back around, starting the car back up. Grantaire slumps into his seat, praying that Enjolras will ignore him. He really doesn’t want to talk to Enjolras- not after they left off on such a positive note on Saturday. He knows that whenever they do end up talking, they always end up dismantling the progress they’ve previously made- and this is something he wants to keep. Enjolras, however, has no such thought in mind. 

“Hello Grantaire,” he says, smiling at Grantaire. His phone is still out, droplets of water covering the screen. 

“What were you writing?” Grantaire blurts, because really, he has approximately zero self-control. Enjolras looks confused for a second before looking down at his phone, and back up again. 

“I- um-” he rubs the back of his neck. He’s avoiding Grantaire’s eyes, and Grantaire is immensely confused. “I run a political blog,” hs says in a rush, “and I rant there almost every day. There’s, um, other stuff on there too…” he trails off, face red. It’s the first time he’s ever seen Enjolras in a mood that isn’t a) angry, b) annoyed, or c) confused. Grantaire nods.

“I have a blog too,” he says. Enjolras looks intrigued. 

“What do you post?” 

“Art stuff. It’s… really bad. I have, like, zero followers.” This is a lie. Grantaire has almost nine hundred followers, but he doesn’t feel like sharing this particular detail with Enjolras. 

“I really liked the posters you made. I’d like to see your blog- if that’s okay,” Enjolras says softly, and Grantaire’s heart does not speed up at this, it  _ does not.  _ They’re actually making progress- no backtracking necessary- and Grantaire isn’t sure he can handle this. 

“Haha yeah, I don’t really show people,” he says quickly, trying to dispel whatever it was that was just happening. Enjolras nods, and sinks back in his seat. Courfeyrac is on his phone, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth suggests that he’s either texting Combeferre or has been listening to their entire conversation. It’s probably the latter. Grantaire’s phone buzzes about fifteen times in the space of two seconds and he realizes that it’s both. 

 

**Courf:** nooooo why didn’t you show him 

**Courf:** such an incompetent human being

**Courf:** he wanted to seeeeee

**Courf:** he likes u

**Courf:** probably

**Courf:** i didn’t even kno he had a political blog lol

**Courf:** now i need to find it

**Ferre:** Have you ever considered that maybe this is why he didn’t want you to know?   
**Courf:** SO YOU KNEW   
**Courf:** AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME

**Courf:** YOUR BOYFRIEND   
**Courf:** HOW DARE YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS FERRE

**Ferre:** We should stop texting, it’s rude. 

**Courf:** THIS IS NOT OVER

 

Enjolras is looking curiously at Grantaire, who is trying his absolute best to squeeze into the corner of the seat and disappear from existence. Obviously, it isn’t working. 

“We’re here,” Eponine says cheerily, grabbing her backpack and placing it on top of her head as she exits the car, running towards the building. The rest of them get out slowly, grumbling about the weather. Courfeyrac produces an orange umbrella from nowhere and holds it over Grantaire. They walk into school like that, Enjolras and Combeferre following them. Courfeyrac closes the umbrella, whispering urgently to Grantaire as he does so. 

“Okay. Now. At lunch today, Ferre, Joly, and I are going to all be conveniently seeing teachers for help with classwork-”

“No- Courf, please-”

“-and you’re going to  _ talk  _ to Enjolras, because this pent-up sexual tension is going to be the death of me.” Courfeyrac gives Grantaire a cheery wave, and runs over to Combeferre, presumably telling him about his plan. Enjolras glances at Grantaire and gives him a half smile, and Grantaire looks away and runs to his locker, throwing his wet coat inside and staring at the blank metal wall for a solid two minutes. What the fuck has his life turned into? Just last week, Enjolras had seemed like he wanted nothing to do with him, and now he’s smiling at him, acting like he wants to talk to him.  _ Him,  _ of all people. The only feasible explanation is that Enjolras wants to be better friends, but even that makes no sense. Why would Enjolras desire a closer friendship with Grantaire when all Grantaire does is contradict everything he says? Grantaire  _ knows  _ he’s a dick, and he’s accepted it. He repels people by the very nature of his being, but somehow Enjolras isn’t like everyone else. 

He slides into his seat a few seconds after the bell. Courfeyrac and Combeferre are talking in low murmurs, but once they see him, they break apart, giving each other smug smiles. 

“What,” Grantaire says, and it isn’t a question.

“Just some rated R stuff…” Courfeyrac says, winking. “You wouldn’t want to hear it.” Though this is something that Grantaire does not doubt that Courfeyrac would do, he suspects that this is not the case. However, his mind is too occupied with The Enjolras Problem, as he has decided to call it, so he doesn’t respond, and spends the rest of the period scribbling on his paper to look busy, but really he’s only thinking about Enjolras’s eyes and Enjolras’s voice and Enjolras’s smile. 

The rest of the morning passes in a similar manner, with Grantaire totally ignoring everything his teachers are saying. After a particularly boring lecture in History during which Grantaire had sketched Enjolras’s profile about four times, he heads to lunch, and realizes his mistake as soon as he steps into the room. 

He had forgotten about the plan that Courfeyrac had created, and now that Enjolras has seen him, he can’t just leave without looking like a total jerk. He walks over to the table, feeling like he’s going to the guillotine. He sits down, holding his breath. 

“Where is everyone?” Enjolras asks, annoyed as usual. 

“I think they all had to talk to teachers about… stuff.” In reality, they’re all probably holed up in the choir room, laughing at Grantaire’s pain. Enjolras nods, accepting the lie. He really is incredibly naive. 

“So,” Enjolras says, taking a bite of his burrito, “How’s your… life?” It is very unusual to see Enjolras be incredibly awkward, and even more unusual is that Grantaire finds it adorable.  _ Shit.  _ He is totally, completely, one hundred percent screwed. 

“Um,” he says intelligently, “it’s… good. How about you? Did your tests go okay?”

“Yes, thank you for asking.” Grantaire nods, and looks down at the table. The silence is  _ so  _ awkward, and Grantaire just wants to run out of the room, out of the school, preferably out of the state, but he knows he can’t do that. 

“Politics!” he blurts, and Enjolras raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry?” 

“Politics- news. What’s happening?” Enjolras looks at him strangely, but sets down his burrito, and Grantaire knows he’s created a conversation. 

“Nothing- which is exactly the problem. Did you know that most of Puerto Rico  _ still  _ doesn’t have electricity? Suicide rates are up, and people are getting diseases that hospitals can’t fix because of their lack of equipment. And what is the United States doing to help?  _ Nothing.  _ Absolutely nothing. We made a bunch of empty promises- promises to help Puerto Rico because they are a part of us- and Puerto Rico trusted us. I don’t know why, but they did. People’s lives are at stake, and we are doing nothing about it! Trump-” Enjolras spits out his name as though it’s something foul “- made a promise. You can’t just back out on your word when you’re the  _ President  _ of one of the most influential nations  _ in the world.  _ It’s just- it’s not right. It makes me sick.” Enjolras’s eyes are glittering, and it occurs to Grantaire that a) this is an  _ incredibly  _ sensitive subject to Enjolras, for whatever reason that may be, and b) this had been an  _ awful  _ idea. 

“It sucks,” is all Grantaire can think of to say. For once, he doesn’t disagree with any of Enjolras’s points. You can’t just do that- back out on an  _ entire country  _ for no reason at all. Enjolras smiles slightly. 

“You didn’t contradict me.” Grantaire shrugs.

“Miracles do happen.” Enjolras laughs slightly. 

“You believe in something. I thought you were incapable of belief.”

“I already told you. I believe in you.” Enjolras snorts. 

“And I don’t know why. It feels like you see me as some sort of, I don’t know, god or something. And I’m not. You can’t believe in nothing but me, because I’m a person too. If you don’t believe in humanity, than you can’t believe in me either.”

“Whatever you say,” Grantaire replies, knowing that this isn’t true- it can’t be true, because  _ Enjolras  _ can’t be true. He’s too good for this world. “But I think that if somebody was going to change the world, it would be you.” Throughout this dialogue, they’ve been leaning closer to each other over the table, and Grantaire can see Enjolras’s individual eyelashes, long and dark. Grantaire can’t breathe. Enjolras smiles slightly. 

“Grantaire-” he begins, and Grantaire wants him to finish that sentence  _ so fucking bad,  _ wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything in his entire life, but, of course, whatever he was about to say is interrupted by the arrival of Courfeyrac, Joly, and Combeferre, who seem to have developed a skill for the worst possible timing throughout human history. 

“So!” Courfeyrac exclaims, seeming to not notice the crucial moment he had interrupted. “How are you all?” He winks at Grantaire, who resists the urge to throw something at his head. Preferably something heavy. 

“Fine,” Grantaire manages through gritted teeth. Courfeyrac smiles brightly. 

“Courfeyrac, can I speak to you for a moment?” Grantaire asks, standing up and grabbing Courfeyrac’s wrist. 

“I mean, it looks like I don’t have a choice,” Courfeyrac says, as Grantaire drags him away from the table.

“What the  _ fuck.  _ Are you blind? Did you not see what was happening?” Courfeyrac’s smile vanishes. 

“Yes. I did. And Grantaire, forgive me, but you haven’t known Enjolras for as long as I have. If you guys did kiss, because it sure looked like you were about to, you guys would  _ never  _ date. Enjolras would feel too self-conscious about himself, and you wouldn’t know how to bring it up without it being awkward. In order for you guys to date  _ properly,  _ the confession of feelings has to happen first, so you guys are on the same page,” Courfeyrac finishes, folding his arms across his chest. “So I’m sorry, but it’s for the best.” Grantaire deflates, letting go of Courfeyrac’s wrist. 

“You’re probably right.” He glances over to the table, where Enjolras is now engrossed in a conversation with Joly and Combeferre, though he seems to be doing most of the talking. “He would have regretted it the second after it happened, anyway. He’s- he’s not  _ human.  _ No human can be that perfect.” Courfeyrac’s eyes widen slightly.

“I found it,” he whispers, and Grantaire glances at him, confused. 

“Found what?”

“The reason. Why you’re  _ so  _ insecure of yourself around him. Enjolras isn’t, like, a  _ god.  _ He’s a  _ person. _ Who makes mistakes. Lots of them.” He laughs slightly. “You didn’t see him when he first had alcohol. He was a  _ mess.  _ Ferre and I held his hair back while he threw up. We couldn’t even get him to a toilet.” Grantaire laughs, despite himself. Enjolras  _ seems  _ like the type to be a lightweight. Courfeyrac is suddenly serious, and Grantaire realizes that this is the first time he’s seen Courfeyrac look like this. 

“Grantaire. You seriously have to stop. You and Enjolras are equals- he isn’t, like, superior to you. You can’t date him and have it be a healthy relationship if you view him as better than you.” Grantaire runs a hand through his curls. He knows Courfeyrac is right. But he can’t  _ not  _ view Enjolras as better than him- not when he looks like that, or when he talks about changing the world, like he  _ knows  _ that it’s something he can actually accomplish. 

Grantaire and Courfeyrac walk back the table, sitting down amid an impassioned rant about Enjolras’s history teacher, who has apparently done something to warrant three emails to the school board. Combeferre cuts Enjolras off when he sees Courfeyrac and Grantaire, however. 

“Enj-  _ Enj.  _ We have to go.” Grantaire looks around and realizes that the lunchroom is almost empty- the last waves of students are flowing out of the doors, chattering amongst themselves. 

“Oh,” Enjolras says, wrapping up the half of his burrito that he has failed to eat and placing it back into his lunch bag. Grantaire waits for him to get to his feet, and walks with him out the door.

“What was Courfeyrac talking to you about?” Enjolras asks as they walk down the hall. Grantaire tries frantically to think of an excuse, but realizes he doesn’t have to. 

“Oh, sorry, this is my class. I’ve got to run,” he says, not sorry at all, and yanks the door

open, sliding into a desk and breathing a sigh of relief. 

 

Later that day, he stands outside the art room, working up the courage to go inside to the meeting. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. He and Enjolras are somehow managing to act somewhat normal around each other, and he has no qualms about anyone else in the room. But he doesn’t want to face Enjolras, for reasons unknown, even to him. He takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

He’s exactly on time today- not early, not late. However, the only people in the room are Enjolras, who is peering intently at a computer with Feuilly and doesn't look like he should be interrupted, and Marius, who is sitting at a table, staring dreamily off into the distance. Grantaire sits down across from him, smiling hesitantly. He’s heard Enjolras complain about Marius, hoe he’s always talking about his girlfriend, but Grantaire has never really had a full conversation with him.

“Hi,” he says, and Marius is jolted out of his daydream.

“Oh! Hi! Sorry, I was just- thinking. Um, so, hi!” He blushes, looking down at the table. “I said that already, didn’t I.” Grantaire is trying his absolute best not to laugh. 

“Yeah.”

“Sorry. I’m really awkward. Everyone thinks so. Except for Cosette, somehow. You know Cosette, right? Isn’t she awesome? I’m dating her, you know.” He looks incredibly proud of himself. 

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen you guys making out in the stairwell,” Grantaire says, eager to see the reaction he will get to this statement. Surprisingly, Marius doesn’t look embarrassed at all. His criteria for embarrassment is incredibly confusing.

“Oh, yes, we do that sometimes,” he says airily. “She says I’m an incredible kisser.” 

“I see,” Grantaire responds. He can feel his face getting red from holding back his laughter, but really, what do you expect? Just then, Cosette enters the room, followed by Combeferre. 

“Cosette!” Marius exclaims, knocking over the adjacent chair in his haste to get up. “I’ve missed you.”

“You literally saw me last period, calm the fuck down,” Cosette says, rolling her eyes, but Grantaire can see a smile playing at the corners of her lips. They embrace, and then proceed to make out in a way that definitely does not invite onlookers. Grantaire raises one eyebrow, glancing at Combeferre, who fiddles with his sleeve. 

“They’re kind of… intense,” he says. Grantaire laughs. 

“No more than you and Courfeyrac,” he replies, winking, and Combeferre opens his mouth to reply, and then closes it again, looking redder than Grantaire has ever seen him. “How are you and Courf anyway? I haven’t really been caught up to date on that… when Courf talks to me about it, I kind of end up tuning him out.” Combeferre laughs slightly. 

“A lot of people have that reaction, you’re not alone,” he says, taking a seat at a table far away from the disgusting noises coming from the direction of Cosette and Marius. “But we’re doing really well, actually. A lot of communication and… other stuff.” He grows red again. Eponine takes a seat next to Grantaire just then, startling him. 

“I didn’t know you were even here,” he says. She rolls her eyes. 

“Wow, thanks,” she replies. Her eyes flick over to where Marius and Cosette have practically morphed into one being, and she wrinkles her nose in disgust, leaning in closer to the table. “Please continue talking. I need a distraction.” Combeferre seems to make the connection, smiling knowingly at Grantaire. 

“Is Courfeyrac good in bed, Ferre?” Grantaire asks bluntly, just to see the look on his face. It does not disappoint. 

“What?! Um, yes? No?” It is very amusing to Grantaire to see the normally calm and collected Combeferre reduced to a stuttering mess, and he leans forwards again, ready to ask more, when Courfeyrac enters the room. 

“I’m here!” He sings, skipping across the room to sit next to Combeferre. He gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, and smiles brightly at Grantaire and Eponine. “What were you guys talking about?”

“How good you are in bed,” Eponine says bluntly, and Courfeyrac laughs. 

“I mean, I am pretty good, if I do say so myself,” he says, nudging Combeferre. “Right Ferre?” Combeferre buries his face in his hands. Courfeyrac laughs. “He seems shy, doesn’t he,” Courfeyrac stage-whispers. “But it all goes away once we get into bed, if you know what I mean.” He winks, then drags Combeferre to a standing position, and the two of them walk over to Enjolras and Feuilly, leaning over their shoulders. Eponine and Grantaire take one look at each other, and burst out laughing. This seems to jolt Enjolras and Feuilly out of their trance. 

“Oh,” Feuilly says, glancing at Enjolras. 

“People are here,” Enjolras says, looking around the room. Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are playing what looks like a very intense game of War in one corner, while Jehan and Bahorel are taking endless photos of Marius and Cosette, who are still making out. “Hey, Marius, please stop, nobody wants to see that.” Enjolras strides over to the two of them, pulling them apart despite loud protests from Jehan and Bahorel. “Don’t take pictures of them, that’s just creepy, not to mention a complete violation of their privacy.”

“It’s not like it’s that private though,” Bahorel mutters, and Jehan giggles. 

“Fuck!” Bossuet yells from the corner, as he collects Joly and Musichetta’s cards. His hand looks as though it contains about nine-tenths of the deck. 

“Bossuet, Joly, Musichetta, if you would be so kind as to join the rest of us?” Enjolras asks, gesturing to a table. Bossuet scrambles to his feet, dropping the cards in his haste. The three of them leave the cards in a pile on the floor, and sit down with everyone else at the table. 

“We have made a website,” Feuilly begins, smiling at the group. 

“We already have one,” Courfeyrac says, confused. 

‘We made a  _ better  _ website,” Enjolras says, taking charge. “One that isn’t just crappy phone videos of me arguing with people.” Courfeyrac looks deeply offended, and Grantaire remembers how he had been videoing the argument between him and Enjolras so long ago. “And,” Enjolras continues, smiling slightly, “we put the details for the rally up on it.” The reaction is instantaneous. Everyone turns to someone else, chattering eagerly. Courfeyrac cheers, and kisses Combeferre on the lips, who eagerly responds. 

“Sorry,” Grantaire says, trying to make sense of all of this, “but why is this so exciting?”

“Les Amis de l’ABC have never once held a rally,” says Combeferre, breaking away from Courfeyrac. “We’ve wanted to, but we’ve never had the necessary support until now.”

“Oh,” Grantaire replies. Eponine looks just as underwhelmed by this. “I still don’t understand though. What’s the big deal?” The room grows quiet. Everyone knows by now that when Grantaire says something like this, an argument follows. 

“The  _ big deal,  _ as you so eloquently put it, is that our voices are being heard,” Enjolras says, staring at Grantaire. “The  _ big deal  _ is that people who feel like they may not have a voice and are afraid to speak up can feel more at peace now, and know that we support them. The  _ big deal  _ is that since this is the most that’s happened in our town in god knows how long, the local news team will be there, allowing us to gain publicity. It’s everything we’ve been trying to gain- more members, publicity, a chance to speak our minds and connect with like-minded people.” Grantaire wants to give a snarky retort. He wants to ask how connecting with others will make such a change. He wants to ask if Enjolras really believes that their town isn’t as close-minded as it appears. But this club is everything Enjolras believes in. And, as such, Grantaire believes in it too. 

“Okay,” he says finally. “When is it?” Enjolras positively  _ beams  _ at him, and it’s like the sun shining through the clouds. 

“It’s in two weeks,” he says. “Outside Town Hall. At noon. Actually, Grantaire, if you could make posters again, that would be amazing…” he trails off, remembering what had happened the last time he’d asked Grantaire to design posters. 

“Fine,” Grantaire says, throwing up his hands. He’s grinning though. Enjolras’s enthusiasm is infectious. And besides, Enjolras has already seen his work, and somehow not hated it. He doesn’t even care about anyone else’s opinion, except for Eponine. 

The rest of the meeting goes swimmingly, and Grantaire stays behind for a few minutes, waiting for Enjolras. Enjolras doesn’t seem to want to move, however. 

“Enjolras?” he says, and Enjolras looks up.    
“Yes?”

“Um, Ponine gave you a ride today, remember? Courf and Ferre too. We’re all waiting…” He motions to the door, where the three of them look thoroughly unamused. 

“Oh! Right.” Enjolras stuff his computer into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Grantaire nods, and begins walking, but Enjolras grabs his wrist. “Grantaire,” he begins, and Grantaire can’t stop looking at him, at his eyes, burning as if lit on fire. 

“Yeah?” Grantaire croaks, voice cracking about thirty times. He mentally slaps himself. 

“Thanks.” Enjolras gives him a blinding smile, and walks out the door behind Eponine, leaving Grantaire to stare after him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahahaha they almost kissed #sorrynotsorry  
> Thank you so much for reading!!!! Please leave comments and kudos, they are my heart and soul! Next update will be next Monday!!! Ilysm


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I- um, well, yesterday, at lunch-” Enjolras goes pale.  
> “I need to use the bathroom, hold that thought,” he says suddenly, pushing his seat back and striding to the bathroom. Grantaire groans as he watches Enjolras go, resting his head in his hands. Why had he listened to Jehan? This had been a terrible idea.

     Grantaire sits alone in his room, sketching furiously. He’s been sketching since Eponine drove him home yesterday, first pictures of Enjolras and now poster ideas for the rally that Enjolras was so excited for. It’s become his default now- school is just an interruption from his art.

    He holds the sketch out in front of him, tilting it and examining it at each and every angle, frowning slightly. It’s good, in an objective sense, but there’s still something missing. Before he can put his finger on what that something is, however, his phone rings. It’s Eponine.

    “Hello?” he says.

    “Grantaire! I feel like I didn’t get to talk to you at all today.”

    “Ha, yeah, I was… kind of out of it all day, I guess.”

    “No shit. Anyway, Enjolras and Combeferre were going to get coffee or something but then Courfeyrac felt left out and one thing led to another and now pretty much everyone is going so do you want to come too?”

    Grantaire pauses for a moment. He wants to go, if only to spend time with Enjolras, but he’s really in The Zone right now, and he doesn't want to lose his progress. He looks down at the mess of crumpled paper on his floor, and glances at the almost-empty water bottle on his night table.

    “Grantaire?”

    “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

    “Cool. Okay, so, Bahorel is picking up Feuilly, Jehan, Marius, Cosette, Joly, and Bossuet. Ferre is driving himself and Enj and Courf, and I offered to drive Musichetta. You can get a ride with me too, if you want. I’ll be there in, like, fifteen minutes?”

    “Yeah, sure, that sounds great. Thanks Eponine.”

    “No problem.” She hangs up. Grantaire rolls off of his bed and onto the floor, letting out a groan as he realizes that this may have been a bad idea. He slowly gets to his feet, brushing himself off, and walks to his mirror.

    Surprisingly, he doesn’t look completely terrible. He’s wearing a black hoodie zipped halfway up with a gray Death Cab for Cutie t-shirt underneath, and a pair of acid-washed blue jeans. His hair has decided to cooperate today, so it doesn’t look like a mushroom sprouting from his head, and he decides that there really isn’t anything that needs to be altered.

    It’s a good thing too, because Eponine honks from outside. _Jesus._ Had it already been fifteen minutes? Had he just been staring at himself the whole time? Grantaire curses before grabbing his wallet and running downstairs, throwing open the front door.

    He climbs into the backseat of the car, rifling through the bills in his wallet. He has six dollars and forty-eight cents, as well as a Starbucks gift card, which he thinks still has around ten dollars on it.

    “We _are_ going to Starbucks, right?” he asks, and Musichetta laughs.

    “Sorry, sorry, I just keep forgetting you haven’t been friends with Enj for that long. Um, he is kind of… against Starbucks. I believe the exact phrase used was ‘Starbucks is a scheme for the capitalist pigs to squeeze money from the middle class.’” Grantaire snorts.

    “Why is that just _so_ Enjolras,” he muses, placing the gift card back into his wallet. “So where are we going then?”

    “This cute little coffee shop that, like, just opened,” Eponine responds, turning a corner. “It’s called the Musain or something like that.”

    “It’s _adorable,_ ” Musichetta gushes. “They have, like, succulents hanging from the ceiling and all these little gold accessories on the tables and one of the walls is covered with chalkboard paint so you can draw on it and write on it and stuff, it’s so cool!” She blushes. “Sorry, I just- I really like it.”

    “It sounds amazing,” Eponine says, pulling in to a parking space. “Look, there they are.” The rest of the club is standing outside of the Musain, waiting. Jehan is perched on top of Bahorel’s shoulders, braid flowing behind him as he throws his head back with laughter. Courfeyrac has been pushed against a wall by Combeferre, and the two of them are furiously making out. Marius and Cosette are watching them, giggling, though they really aren’t one to talk. Enjolras is standing with Bossuet and Joly, nodding seriously at something Bossuet says, and Feuilly is looking at the menu that the cafe has taped up to the window, frowning slightly. Grantaire wishes he could freeze time and draw this moment so he can have it forever.

    He climbs out of the car, slamming the door behind him, and walks over to Feuilly. He’s never really talked to Feuilly before, and can’t really tell what he’s like.

    “So,” he says awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. Feuilly looks at him, smiling slightly.

    “So,” he echoes, leaning against the window.

    “Uh- have you been here before?”

    “No,” Feuilly responds, looking at Grantaire with amusement clear in his eyes. Grantaire groans.

    “I can tell you’re silently mocking me.” Feuilly laughs.

    “I can’t help it, you look so fucking _awkward,_ it’s hilarious. You get into arguments with Enjolras, like, every day, but talking to _me_ scares you? It’s just weird.”

    “You’re intimidating!” Grantaire protests, but Feuilly just laughs harder.

    “And Enjolras isn’t?”

    “Well- he’s- I-”

    “Hey,” Feuilly says, interrupting him. “I can help you get his attention today, if you want. Seduce him.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

    “Oh my gosh, it’s like a second Courfeyrac,” Grantaire groans, and Feuilly laughs again. Grantaire hears a smacking noise, and looks over to see that Courfeyrac has removed himself from Combeferre and is walking over to them.

    “I heard my name!” he sings. “What’s up?”

    “I was just saying how you and Feuilly are basically one person. Both matchmakers and… weirdly sexual.” Courfeyrac giggles.

    “Yeah, that surprises a lot of people. Feuilly seems like a pure, innocent angel, but in reality, his mind is dirtier than all of ours combined.”

    “He offered to matchmake me and Enj.” Courfeyrac punches Feuilly in the arm.

    “ _I_ wanted to matchmake them at the coffee shop!” he pouts, looking at Feuilly with the biggest puppy-dog eyes that Grantaire has ever seen. Feuilly shrugs.

    “I mean, you can do it if you want. I just had some, ah, _ideas,_ if you catch my drift…” he winks. Courfeyrac’s eyes widen.

    “Tell me more,” he says, pulling Feuilly away. Grantaire goes over to Eponine, who is engrossed in a chat about _The Office_ with Jehan, who is still sitting on top of Bahorel.

    “... I mean, I understand shipping, like, Dwight and Michael or something, since Dwight does have a weird-ass obsession with the guy, but Jim and Dwight? Just… no. I, like, can’t even.” Jehan nods vigorously.

    “The Office fandom needs to _chill,_ ” he says, and Eponine laughs.

    “Um, Ponine?” Grantaire says, and Eponine turns to him. “Do you want to, like, go inside?” She laughs, and nods, helping Jehan down from Bahorel’s shoulders and heading inside. Everyone else soon follows.

    They seat themselves in the back of the room, at a long table with two succulents hanging above it. By the power of the universe, or possibly Feuilly and Courfeyrac, Grantaire is seated next to Enjolras. He glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He wonders if Enjolras remembers the kiss- or, what was almost a kiss.

    “Hi,” he ventures, and Enjolras turns to him.

    “Grantaire. How are you?” Grantaire nods.

    “I’m okay, I guess. You?” Enjolras sighs.

    “I’ve been better.” Their conversation (if you can even call it that) is stopped by Jehan, who is taking everybody’s orders.

    “Chocolate coconut latte, and ask them to add two packets of sugar,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire laughs. Enjolras looks to Grantaire warily. “If there a problem?”

    “Your coffee order. It sounds like a teenage girl ordering Starbucks.”

“I’m sorry for reading the menu,” Enjolras says, cheeks growing pink. “What will you be having then, if my tastes aren’t suitable?”

    “Large iced coffee, black,” Grantaire tells Jehan, who nods before hurrying up to the counter. He turns to Enjolras with a smug grin on his face. Enjolras rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “How’s the rally planning going?” Grantaire asks, and Enjolras sighs, running a hand through his hair.

    “Surprisingly well, but it’s been exhausting trying to work everything out.” Grantaire nods.

    “I can imagine.” Just then, Bahorel asks Enjolras a question, and Enjolras turns away from Grantaire and begins gesturing animatedly, speaking incredibly quickly. Grantaire looks to his left, and sees Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac has his head resting on Combeferre’s shoulder, and Combeferre is absentmindedly stroking his curls, smiling to himself. Cosette is watching them too, a grin on her face. She notices Grantaire and smiles brightly

    “They are _adorable,_ ” Cosette gushes from her seat across from Grantaire. “They are honestly the cutest couple in school.” Grantaire nods.

    “It was… mildly sickening, but still adorable,” he says, and Cosette laughs. Her laugh is bright and clear, and hearing it makes Grantaire smile. “I mean, I’m not one for all of that touchy-feely stuff… or maybe I just haven’t found the right person,” he adds, thinking that it might not be so bad to be that affectionate in public with Enjolras. “I don’t know,” he continues, “But honestly, I could never date Courf. He’s awesome, but, like, what if he promposed to me or something? It would be so cheesy and extra…” he sighs and shakes his head. “I just can’t deal with the amount of cheese people feel the need to add to everything.”

    “Well, how would you want to be promposed to? Or maybe you would be the one promposing...” Grantaire shrugs.

    “I mean, I would never prompose to anyone, because they would most definitely say no. Like, look at my face, I’m pretty hideous. But if I were being promposed _to,_ I would probably want it to be, like, not sickeningly sweet, just casual. No big gestures, just words.” Cosette nods.

    “Yeah, I get that. If it were me, I would want it to be subtle too, but maybe just a _little_ sickeningly sweet.” She winks at Marius, who instantly looks up at one of the succulents, blushing furiously.

    Just then, Jehan comes over to them, carrying trays of drinks. He sets Grantaire’s drink down in front of him, and Grantaire takes a long sip before almost spitting it out. He screws up his face and swallows, before glaring at Enjolras.

    “He gave me your disgusting teen girl drink!” Judging by the expression on Enjolras’s face, Jehan had made the same mistake with him. They swap drinks, and Grantaire takes a cautious sip, totally _not_ thinking about the fact that Enjolras’s lips had been on this very straw, the straw that _Grantaire’s_ lips were now on, and that this was, like, one degree away from kissing. Enjolras looks at Grantaire, and then looks away.

    “What, exactly, is so wrong about my drink tasting like a girl’s?” he asks suddenly, flashing eyes locked with Grantaire’s. Grantaire laughs.

    “Relax, it isn’t sexism or anything-”

    “But it _is._ You’re promoting stereotypes and ridiculing me for sharing the traits you believe to be associated with a girl.”

    “Okay, so when you put it like that, it sounds sexist. But, like, I wouldn’t have said that if it hadn’t been for society’s standards, so isn’t it really society’s fault?”

    “Yes, but that same excuse can be used to justify sexism or racism or homophobia on much larger scales! You should still filter what you say, Grantaire.” Grantaire muses on this for a moment.

    “I suppose you’re right,” he says at last, and Enjolras’s face shows his astonishment.

    “You agreed with me. Again. Are you feeling okay?” Enjolras looks concerned, like he genuinely believes that Grantaire might be sick, and Grantaire laughs.

    “I’m fine. But you’re right.” Enjolras smiles, a blinding smile that Grantaire never wants to look away from.

    “Grantaire!” Grantaire looks over to see Jehan and Marius standing in a corner, waving him over. He smiles apologetically to Enjolras, and gets up, chair scraping against the hardwood floors.

    “What is it, and was it really worth interrupting me for?” he asks Jehan, who punches him playfully.

    “Sorry for interrupting your bonding time with Enjolras, but we were coming up with ideas for how to ask Cosette to prom… for Marius, obviously,” he adds, blushing.

    “No shit,” Grantaire says, shifting his weight slightly. “Um, well, wasn’t she saying that she wanted something subtle but sweet?” Marius nods eagerly. “So maybe, like, just kind of give her a rose or something and tell her how much you like her and ask her to prom?”

    “Aww, Grantaire, you _are_ a romantic!” Jehan says, grinning. Grantaire rolls his eyes.

    “Shut up,” he says, but he gives Jehan a fond smile. Marius is thinking out loud.

    “So maybe- we have a date on Friday- I could go to the florist’s beforehand- and then after- there’s a park she likes nearby- that’s perfect! Thank you Grantaire!” Marius hesitates before giving Grantaire an extremely awkward hug. Grantaire stands still in the boy’s embrace, eyes going wide, before giving Marius a gentle pat on the back.

    “Um, anytime?” he asks, and it comes out like a question. Thankfully, Marius releases him, grinning like a madman, and bounds over to his beloved Cosette, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Jehan is doubled over laughing at the horrified expression on Grantaire’s face, and he straightens up after Marius leaves, wiping a tear from his eye.

    “Holy _shit_ you should have seen your face, it was the actual best thing ever…” he trails off, still giggling slightly. “Anyway, are you going to prompose to Enjolras?” he asks, winking. Grantaire groans.

    “ _No._ I was just saying earlier, I would _never_ prompose to anyone- they’ll just reject me. Anyway, isn’t Enjolras, like, super anti-prom?” Jehan shrugs.

    “He _is,_ but I think he would probably make an exception if it was someone he really liked…” he nudges Grantaire.

    “And you think he likes _me_?” Jehan nods. Grantaire gives an incredulous laugh. “I’m assuming Courf told you about the thing that was almost a kiss-” Jehan nods “- but he’s acting like it never even happened.”

    “Well so are you! Look, Enjolras may not seem like it, but he’s really… awkward sometimes.” Grantaire remembers Eponine saying something similar. He’s tried to believe it, but he just… can’t. How can this boy who speaks up for every cause imaginable, who truly believes he can change the world (and probably will) ever feel awkward talking to _Grantaire,_ of all people? Jehan gives Grantaire a sympathetic smile. “Courf also told me about how you see him. I mean, you weren’t there when we all watched _It_ together… he was a fucking _mess_.”

    “Okay, well, I still don’t see the point you’re trying to make. Enjolras doesn’t do prom, and judging on how he’s acting like our almost-kiss never even happened, I don’t think he would want to do it with me.” Jehan shakes his head, wisps of hair escaping from his braid.

    “ _But you like Enjolras._ And you’re also acting like it never happened! Just- talk to him about it, or something.” Grantaire considers this. It isn’t the worst idea, but he can see it ending in about fifteen different ways. About ten of them involve Enjolras yelling at him. But- maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he needs to be more like Enjolras here, and try to see the good in everyone.

    “Yeah. Okay. I think I will, actually.” Jehan looks relieved.

    “Good. Okay, you got this!” He smiles at Grantaire, and then turns on his heel, running over to Courfeyrac and whispering in his ear. Courfeyrac’s eyes go wide, and he looks at Grantaire for confirmation. Grantaire gives a tiny nod, and Courfeyrac beams, rushing over to him.

    “Oh my gosh this is so exciting! My babies are growing up and getting married... What are you going to say?” Courfeyrac is everywhere, running his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, unzipping his sweatshirt slightly, brushing miniscule specks of dirt off of his shoulders. Grantaire shrugs.

    “Just, like, hey what exactly happened yesterday?” Courfeyrac nods hesitantly. Grantaire sighs. “You don’t like it.”

    “No! No, it’s fine, but…” he trails off, looking sheepish.

    “Just tell me.”

    “It’s really blunt. Maybe try and lead in with, like, something casual or whatever. Like the weather. Everyone likes to talk about the weather, right?”

    “No, I think that’s the default for awkward conversations, actually… wow, and here I thought you were, like, this romance extraordinaire.” Courfeyrac looks extremely offended.

    “I _am_ a romance extraordinaire, thank you very much! But you and Enjolras are… an _interesting_ pair. For you guys, talking about the weather might be the norm. I don’t really know. When you have conversations, I try to stay far away to avoid Enjolras blowing up at me. Or I film them.” Grantaire gives a slight laugh. “Actually, maybe start with current events, if you want. It seems more natural for you.”

    “I’ll just wing it, it’ll be fine, you know me, I’m slick as fuck.” Courfeyrac nods.

    “Oh yeah. Totally. A hundred percent.”

    “Shut up,” Grantaire says, punching Courfeyrac playfully. Courfeyrac giggles.

    “Now go, young Padawan. Meet your destiny!” He gives Grantaire a shove, and Grantaire stumbles over to Enjolras, collapsing back into his seat. Enjolras looks at him, seeming slightly concerned.

    “Are you drunk?” he asks, and Grantaire laughs, shaking his head.

    “Not today,” he says. Enjolras frowns.

    “Are you implying that you sometimes show up to gatherings drunk?”

    “The fuck- no, Enjolras, I’m not implying anything of the sort.” Honestly, Grantaire sometimes has no idea why he’s fallen as hard as he has for Enjolras. He can really be incredibly annoying at times, and yet… there’s just something about him that brings Grantaire back, back to gazing at this boy who is so determined to make his mark on the world.  

    “Okay then,” Enjolras says. “Did you want to talk?” Grantaire nods, finding himself temporarily incapable of speech.

    “I- um, well, yesterday, at lunch-” Enjolras goes pale.

    “I need to use the bathroom, hold that thought,” he says suddenly, pushing his seat back and striding to the bathroom. Grantaire groans as he watches Enjolras go, resting his head in his hands. _Why_ had he listened to Jehan? This had been a terrible idea. He pushes his coffee away. He doesn’t really want it anymore. All he wants is to leave, to go home and lay on his bed listening to Spotify and sketching pictures of the boy who has ruined him so completely. Courfeyrac, who has been watching the entire time (creep), runs over.

    “What the _fuck_ just happened?”

    “I just was like, hey, about yesterday at lunch-” Courfeyrac cuts him off with a groan.

    “I told you not to do that!”

    “There was an intro conversation! He asked me if I was drunk since you shoved me over here and I couldn’t get my balance and shit, and I said no, and then I asked him!”

    “Asking someone if they’re drunk is not a good intro conversation! God, you make matchmaking you guys so difficult…” Courfeyrac shakes his head. “Okay. Okay, here’s a new plan. When he comes out of the bathroom, _I’ll_ ask him. I’ll say that I saw it, since, you know, I interrupted it and all. I’ll tell you what he says.” This is actually not that bad of a plan. Grantaire just wishes they had come up with it before he had totally embarrassed himself in front of Enjolras.

Enjolras has now returned from the bathroom, though Grantaire notices that he is avoiding sitting down, instead choosing to join Eponine and Musichetta’s conversation. He sighs, running his hands through his hair. Courfeyrac smiles at him.

“Don’t worry about it! I’ve got it under control…” he winks, and swaggers over to Enjolras yanking him away from the conversation. Grantaire watches as Courfeyrac drapes his arm around Enjolras’s shoulders, pulling him into a corner. Enjolras looks mildly frightened as Courfeyrac talks to him, and then confused, and then annoyed. He says something, and tries to walk away, but Courfeyrac blocks him, gripping his arm. Enjolras says something else, and Courfeyrac gives a reply, before dropping Enjolras’s arm and pulling out his phone.

 

 **Courf:** I dont wanna tell u this in person right now since it would look suspicious

 **Courf:** we gotta be prepared for everything

 **R:** k

 **Courf:** all right

 **Courf:** so

 **Courf:** the moment we have all been waiting for

 **R:** STOP DRAGGING IT OUT

 **Courf:** MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NEVER    

 **R:** ughhhh u suck

 **Courf:** u swallow

 **Courf:** ;)

 **Courf:** ANYWAY

 **Courf:** he said he didnt know what I was talking abt and tried to run away

 **Courf:** BUT NOBODY RUNS FROM ME

 **R:** ok then what

 **Courf:** I was like

 **Courf:** enj wtf I legit saw u stop trying to hide it from me I’m not gonna judge

 **Courf:** and he was like ugh fine

 **R:** is that all?

 **Courf:** GIVE ME A SEC

 **Courf:** he said that he honestly didn’t know what was about to happen, he hadn’t even realized that u guys were getting that close together and then he kinda got nervous

 **Courf:** he said that he was grateful I interrupted bc he didn’t know what he would have done

 **R:** ok

 **Courf:** are u upset?

 **R:** no, I felt the same way tbh so like it would be hypocritical of me to be upset

 **Courf:** …but ur upset

 **R:** well yeah kinda

 **Courf:** understandable

 **R:** ughhhhh feelings suck

 **Courf:** I beg to differ but ok

 **R:** well u have an amazing bf who is obsessed w/u

 **R:** i have nobody

 **Courf:** NO MY BBY YOU HAVE ME

 **Courf:** and the rest of us

 **Courf:** BUT MOSTLY ME

 **R:** thx

 

Courfeyrac pockets his phone, giving Grantaire a big smile. Grantaire would go over and talk to him, but he has no desire to be around someone this happy. He walks over to Eponine.

“I think I’m going to head home,” he says.

“What?! No! Don’t go!”

“I don’t really feel that great,” Grantaire responds, which isn’t technically a lie. He feels like something heavy has materialized in his stomach, and he doesn’t quite know why. Is he this affected by Enjolras not knowing what to do in a scenario that they were equally clueless about?

“But I drove you! How will you get home?”

“I’ll just walk, it’s not a big deal. It’s only, like, ten or fifteen minutes.” Eponine sighs.

“Fine. We’ll miss you!” Grantaire gives her a faint smile before waving to everyone else. Only Joly notices, and waves back. Feeling miserable, he walks out of the door and into the sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading!!! Please leave comments and kudos, they mean so much!!! :)  
> Also, in case you couldn't tell, this fic is definitely going over the original estimate of 10-12 chapters so that's something new  
> The rally will probably be Chapter 11 at the current rate of things, and it will definitely be interesting


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Address?” he asks, and Enjolras gives it to him. They ride in silence for a little bit. Then, Grantaire asks what has been on his mind for the past ten minutes.  
> “So- how about this mysterious crush?” Enjolras’s face flushes even redder than it did before.  
> “It’s not a crush,” he mumbles. Grantaire rolls his eyes.

Marius has been nervous all day for his big promposal, and it had been amusing. At first. When he used Grantaire as a wall to block him from Cosette, it had begun to get a little annoying. And then when he had dived under the table when Courfeyrac had said the word “prom,” effectively ruining his pants, it had just gotten ridiculous.

“Marius, c’mon. She’ll say yes, you know she will, she’s, like, crazy about you.”

“You don’t know that,” Marius responds, eyes wide. “What if she’s only dating me out of pity? What if this has just been a chain of pity dates all along?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Enjolras remarks under his breath. Grantaire smirks, but continues.

“Look, just do it. Be really sweet and stick to the plan, and it’ll all work out.” Marius nods slowly.

“Okay. Yeah. Um, I’ve got to run- bye!” He runs down the hallway, turning the corner. Grantaire exchanges a confused glance with Enjolras, but it all becomes clear when Cosette walks up to them, frowning.

“Is Marius mad at me?” she asks, and Grantaire bursts out laughing. Enjolras glares at him.

“Sorry, sorry- No, he’s not mad. I promise. He fucking _adores_ you- how could he be mad?” She sighs, tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear.

“I know- or that’s what everyone tells me, anyway. But he’s just been acting really weird all day. Is he sick?” She suddenly looks worried. “Do we need to cancel our date?”

“No!” Grantaire says quickly. “No, no, he’s fine, don’t worry.” Cosette gives him a confused smile.

“Okay,” she says. “Well, I should get going then- to get ready and all. Oh Grantaire-”

“Yeah?”

“I invited Eponine over to help me get ready- does she hate me? When I asked her she just rolled her eyes and walked away.” Grantaire suddenly feels bad for Cosette. She hadn’t done anything wrong- it wasn’t her fault that Marius was absolutely besotted with her. And how could she know that Eponine was totally obsessed with Marius?

“She doesn’t hate you,” Grantaire says slowly, searching for the words that will make this the least offensive. “She just… she doesn’t know how she feels about you, if that makes sense.” Cosette nods.

“Okay. That’s fine. Tell her the invitation still stands, if she wants to come over. I can text her my address- I have her number from the group chat.” Grantaire nods, and Cosette gives him another smile before walking away. Grantaire looks at Enjolras, who looks confused.

“Wait, is there tension with Cosette and Eponine? I never noticed.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” Enjolras looks insulted.

“No, I was being serious, but if you don’t want to answer-”

“No! Um, yeah, there’s tension- from Eponine anyway. She thinks Cosette, like, stole Marius from her or something.” Enjolras nods.

“Why are multiple girls attracted to Marius?” he asks after a while. Grantaire laughs, and shrugs. They begin walking down the hallway.

“Maybe they find the awkwardness charming?” Enjolras snorts.

“I just find it irritating- but everyone has a type.” Grantaire laughs.

“I mean, yeah, I guess…” They exit the building, and Grantaire squints slightly in the bright sunlight. Enjolras, who apparently has no need to adjust his eyes, points to their right.

“It’s Courf and Ferre,” he says, waving to them. Courfeyrac spots him first, and gives him a smile. He grabs Combeferre by the wrist and drags him to where they stand.

“Hello!” Courfeyrac says cheerfully, still gripping Combeferre’s hand.

“We’re trying to figure out why not one, but two girls have things for Marius,” Enjolras says bluntly, and Courfeyrac laughs.

“People like who they like,” Combeferre says. “I mean, look who I’m dating.” Courfeyrac looks faux-offended, placing a hand on his chest and giving Combeferre an appropriately scandalized expression.

“Watch yourself, dear Combeferre, or I may never prompose,” he says, winking. Combeferre stammers for a few seconds, face slowly turning red. Courfeyrac laughs, placing a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek.

“And what about you?” he asks, looking back to Grantaire and Enjolras. “Are you two doing anything for prom?”

“Well, I was actually thinking of going this year, since so many of my friends are going,” Enjolras says, and Courfeyrac glances at Grantaire.

“See, Enjolras is going,” he says. “But he has nobody to go _with,_ am I right?” Grantaire rolls his eyes at Courfeyrac’s not-so-subtle hints.

“I mean, you are right,” Enjolras says, shifting a little. “But Jehan is single, and so are Bahorel and Feuilly. And you,” Enjolras adds, looking at Grantaire. Grantaire nods.

“And me,” he says. “Though not for lack of trying.” Enjolras suddenly looks interested.

“So there is someone?” he asks. Grantaire nods, fighting back a smile. “What are they like?”

“Well, he’s gorgeous, for one thing. And _incredibly_ smart. We’ve had our good moments, but I think he mostly finds me annoying- who doesn’t though? Um, he’s also a little bit clueless sometimes, but I really would like to go to prom with him.” Enjolras is nodding throughout all of this.

“Just tell him then!” he says. “Say, ‘will you go to prom with me?’ He’ll appreciate the forwardness, probably.”

“Will you go to prom with me?” Grantaire asks, batting his eyelashes coyly.

“Yes, like that. But maybe not with the eyelashes.Then he’ll probably say yes. See, there’s nothing to be scared of.” Courfeyrac looks like he may spontaneously combust right now from holding in his laughter.

“Um, _excuse_ me Enjolras, while it may be more appropriate for you to give Grantaire relationship advice, _I_ am his matchmaker extraordinaire, so step aside.” Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“And who granted you this position, may I ask?”

“I did,” Courfeyrac saus haughtily. “I apologize that there was no formal democratic election, but the position was in desperate need of being filled. Grantaire is hopeless.” Enjolras looks at Grantaire.

“He doesn’t _seem_ hopeless.”

“Well, not compared to you, if you get what I’m saying…” Enjolras looks highly insulted.

“I’m _not_ hopeless!” Courfeyrac laughs.

“Okay then- wait, do you have feelings for anyone?” Enjolras opens his mouth, and closes it again. His face is pink. Grantaire feels like he wants to throw up.

“I-”

“Oh my gosh you like someone!” Courfeyrac jumps up and down eagerly, slinging his arm around Enjolras’s waist. Enjolras pushes him away.

“Stop acting like it’s some breakthrough for me to experience attraction. I get that it’s unusual for me, but don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I make a big deal out of everything Enj, you know that. Now tell me more!” Courfeyrac is bouncing on the balls of his feet now, looking incredibly excited. Enjolras sighs.

“Don’t call me that. And I think he thinks I’m annoying anyway, so it won’t end up going anywhere.”

Courfeyrac shrugs.

“That’s a common opinion- I thought you were annoying at first, but look where we are now!” Enjolras looks like he’s unsure if he should be flattered or offended. Combeferre pulls Courfeyrac away.

“Courf, leave him be. It’s his business if he likes someone or not, and we shouldn’t force him to tell us.” Courfeyrac pouts.

“Fine. It’s just, he’s never really, like, _liked_ anyone before… I was so excited to share this with my baby…” Combeferre rolls his eyes, but Grantaire can see a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The smile is a perfect contrast to everything running through Grantaire’s mind.

His stomach feels like lead. Enjolras likes someone. Someone that isn’t him, not in a million years. He wants to run away, to lay in his bed and stare at the ceiling until all of his problems seem small and far away. But… he _always_ does that. Whenever the littlest thing goes wrong, he holes himself up in his room like a rat retreating into its hole. He can’t just keep doing that for his entire life. This isn’t a legitimate problem- at least he’s _friends_ with the guy. And even though seeing Enjolras date someone else would rip his insides to shreds, he would rather see Enjolras happy than pining and lonely.

“Well,” Combeferre says slowly, looking at Courfeyrac. “We need to go… We have a study date.” Grantaire laughs.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you’ll get a lot of _studying_ done.” Courfeyrac gives him a wave and a wink, and pulls Combeferre away to where an obnoxiously bright blue Mini Cooper is sitting in a parking spot right by the back entrance to the school. Grantaire turns to Enjolras, who is typing on his phone.

“What are you doing?” he asks curiously, and Enjolras looks up, face still slightly flushed.

“Just checking my blog,” he replies, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “Wait, where are Combeferre and Courfeyrac?”

“They just left.” Enjolras looks crestfallen.

“They drove me here today!” Grantaire laughs at the dismayed expression on Enjolras’s face.

“It’s not a big deal- I can drive you if you want.” Enjolras looks like he’s about to refuse, so Grantaire holds up his hand to stop him. “It’s not a hassle- you’ve done it for me, remember? It’s the least I could do to return the favor.” Enjolras sighs. “Come on. My car is over there.” They walk over to Grantaire’s car, and once it comes into view, Grantaire remembers why he seldom offers people rides.

His car is a silver Toyota, scratched and dented, and one of his mirrors is cracked from where he backed it into a pole a few weeks ago. But the inside is worse. Broken pens and pencils snapped in two litter the floor, sitting on top of plastic bags and old math tests.

“Sorry about the mess,” he says, trying to shove the worst of it under his seat. Enjolras hardly even glances at it.

“It really doesn’t matter. You saw my room before.” Grantaire laughs at the memory, backing out of the parking spot.

“Address?” he asks, and Enjolras gives it to him. They ride in silence for a little bit. Then, Grantaire asks what has been on his mind for the past ten minutes.

“So- how about this mysterious crush?” Enjolras’s face flushes even redder than it did before.

“It’s not a crush,” he mumbles. Grantaire rolls his eyes.

“Okay, sure. How about this not-a-crush?” This makes Enjolras laugh.

“I- I mean, I’ll tell you a little bit about him, I guess, but you can’t tell Courfeyrac. He’s insufferable about this sort of thing.” Grantaire nods, excitement and apprehension building. He’s honored that Enjolras feels comfortable enough with him to share this kind of thing- he really is. But he can’t help feeling _incredibly_ jealous that somebody else has the opportunity to date Enjolras- to _kiss_ him for god’s sake.

“So he, um, has brown eyes,” Enjolras begins.

“Wow that narrows it down to what- about seventy-five percent of people at our school?”

“Shut up,” Enjolras replies, but he’s smiling. “You wanted to hear this. Anyway, he also has brown hair.” Grantaire whistles.

“Wow. This is truly illuminating. If you keep this up, it might sound like you’re describing me.” He regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. Something unreadable flashes over Enjolras’s face, and he stammers something unintelligible for a moment, then closes his mouth, choosing to look out of the window at the houses that are flashing by. “Tell me more,” Grantaire says quickly, hoping to dispel some of the tension.

“Sometimes I think he hates me,” Enjolras says quietly, and Grantaire turns to look at him. “Eyes on the road,” Enjolras says, still looking out the window. Grantaire smiles to himself.

“Enjolras, why would he hate you?” Enjolras shrugs.

“Everyone thinks I’m too… extra, I guess. Like just because I’m passionate about things going on in this country, it means I’m crazy. He just doesn’t seem like he cares. And so I just feel like I’m annoying him when I’m around him.” This is probably the most Enjolras has ever opened up to him, and Grantaire is looking at Enjolras in a whole new light. Sure, with the sunlight reflecting off of his hair he looks like an angel sent from heaven specifically to mess with Grantaire’s heart, but he also looks vulnerable. He looks like any other teenage boy who’s worried that their crush doesn’t like them back. And honestly- why _wouldn’t_ he like Enjolras back? Grantaire feels a little angry, actually, at the person who has been blessed with the opportunity to date Enjolras and is choosing instead to act annoyed and unconcerned when Enjolras is around. This person sounds completely undeserving of Enjolras’s feelings. Grantaire looks over at Enjolras He’s biting his lip, looking at Grantaire out of the corner of his eye as if worried Grantaire is judging him for this, and Grantaire realizes that he’s been silent for this entire time.

“You probably aren’t,” Grantaire says lamely, turning onto Enjolras’s street. He drives slowly until he comes to a stop in front of Enjolras’s house. He feels like he should say more, but he hesitates, searching for the right words. “I mean, I think you’re pretty interesting, I guess. I don’t fully agree with a good seventy percent of what you say, but I think you do make valid points. Sometimes.” Enjolras smiles slightly.

“Thank you,” he says softly, and he turns to look fully at Grantaire. “And I hope it works out with you and… whoever you have feelings for.” Grantaire gives Enjolras a weak smile, and Enjolras climbs out of his car and walks up the steps to his house. Silhouetted by the sun, he looks like he’s glowing, and Grantaire watches him for a little longer than is socially acceptable before driving away.

 

“Wait, so, he told you about someone he liked?” Eponine is sitting cross-legged on Grantaire’s bed, science homework completely forgotten as she stares at Grantaire. He lays his head in his hands.

“Yes! And I just sat there and listened… It was _torture,_ Ponine. Actual, legit, torture. I wanted to kiss him so bad… he looked so fucking hot.”

“...except he was talking about some random guy. Grantaire, we have _got_ to get him to like you! Honestly, I think you guys would be cute together.” Grantaire nods.

“I think so too.” Eponine ignores him, typing something in on her phone.

“What if…” she pauses, examining something, before shaking her head. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing. Anyway, do you want to see my dress for prom?” Grantaire does, but he’s more curious about what she had been looking at earlier.

“Just tell me Ponine. Seriously.” Eponine shakes her head.

“All will become clear in time,” she says mysteriously. The effect is slightly ruined when Grantaire throws a shirt at her.

“Hey! That thing is crusty,” she says, holding it between her thumb and forefinger as though scared it will infect her.

“Well, that’s what you deserve.” Grantaire would pester her more, but he knows from years of experience that the more he annoys her, the less likely she is to spill whatever it is she’s keeping from him. “Now show me your prom dress.” Eponine pats the space next to her, and Grantaire sits next to her, peeking over at her phone screen. She scrolls through her camera roll, past a few selfies and a few truly hideous photos of Marius (looking terrified, as usual) until she reaches a photo of a dress.

The dress is beautiful. It’s long-sleeved and midnight blue, made out of some sort of shimmery fabric so that it catches the light, but not too much to be tacky. It’s tied at the waist, and there is a slit for Eponine’s leg to peek through, coming up high enough to make a statement, but not high enough so that you can see her underwear. It’s gorgeous, and totally Eponine.

“It’s awesome,” Grantaire says, and Eponine beams.

“Thanks. It took me forever to get the money to buy it- but it’s totally worth it. I fell in love with it the second I saw it.” Grantaire nods.

“I’m still not sure if I even want to go.” Eponine looks horrified.

“What? No! You need to go. Enjolras is going- maybe you can get his mind off of his man for long enough to kiss him.” Grantaire laughs.

“I think I’m going to go, but I just don’t have anything to wear.”

“There are plenty of places to rent a tux or a suit or whatever. Or you can probably borrow one from Courfeyrac- I’m sure he has plenty.” Grantaire has a horrible vision of himself wearing a bright yellow suit standing in the middle of the dance floor, looking rather like an oversized banana.

“No,” he says immediately, and Eponine laughs, sliding off his bed.

“Well, this has been fun and all, but I’ve got to go.” Grantaire walks with her to the door, giving her a final wave before shutting the door and turning back to his living room, leaning back against the door and closing his eyes. He senses somewhere that he’s being overdramatic, but he just can’t take it. Enjolras is in love. With a guy. Who isn’t him. He hasn’t let himself fully come to terms with what this might mean- that Enjolras might start making out with this guy, or bringing him to meetings- _oh god._ Grantaire can just picture it- some brown-haired, brown-eyed fuckboy sitting smugly by Enjolras’s side, gripping his hand as he rants about the topic of the week, calming him down with a kiss.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a buzzing coming from his pocket. He pulls out his phone and checks his messages.

 

 **Enjolras:** Grantaire.

 

What kind of text message is that? Grantaire looks at it for a moment before typing out a reply.

 

 **R:** Enjolras.

 **Enjolras:** I have a few questions.

 **Enjolras:** About the rally.

 

Of course. When is it _not_ about the rally?

 

 **R:** i live to serve

 **R:** and to annoy

 **Enjolras:** Will you be there, first of all?  

 **R:** of course why wouldnt i be

 **Enjolras:** It just seems like you don’t really believe in the same things as us sometimes. But I’m glad you’ll be there.

 

What does he say to _that?_

 

 **R:** you dont have to lie

 **Enjolras:** Can you just accept a compliment? You’re the only one that sees yourself as worthless, okay? You aren’t worthless, so just stop.

 **R:** fine whatever jeez

 **R:** ok so dont hate me but what even is the rally about

 

    Grantaire can practically _see_ Enjolras roll his eyes on the other side of the phone.

 

    **Enjolras:** Gun control in schools. We need to prevent school shootings and get awareness in our disgusting redneck town.

    **R:** a worthy cause, i support it

    **R:** but u seemed like you had another question so ask away

    **Enjolras:** I wanted to know if you would be interested in speaking at the rally. I’m making a speech, and so are Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Jehan was considering it, but I don’t think he’s going to.

    **R:** why would u want me to speak

    **Enjolras:** You make good points when you argue with me. Even though you counter what I say, it's good that you do, because then you can rebut it.

    **Enjolras:** Only if you feel comfortable, though.

   

This is so Enjolras. Assuming that just because Grantaire can see both sides to an argument, he can magically change people's minds. Assuming that people can change, _period._ People don't change. Grantaire used to be like Enjolras, used to believe in this fantasy, used to _want_ to believe in this fantasy, but he soon learned that it was just that- a fantasy.

 

    **Enjolras:** You’re a good public speaker.

    **R:** fine

    **Enjolras:** Really?

    **R:** ya. i’ll do it, if it matters so much to u

    **Enjolras:** Thank you! Wear something nice-ish- the local press will probably be there.

    **R:** i own approximately 0 nice-ish things

    **Enjolras:** Do you want to come over and borrow something?

 

    _What._ Enjolras has texted him, out of the blue, to first confirm that he was coming to the rally (since apparently his presence was welcome, even _appreciated_ ), asked him to speak, and is now inviting him over to try on _his clothes._ Grantaire pinches himself.

 

    **R:** um. right now?

    **Enjolras:** If that works. I’m not that much taller than you, so my shirts should fit.

    **R:** def not pants tho

    **Enjolras:** Probably not. Are you in?

    Is that even a _question?_

 

    **R:** yeah, omw

 

    Grantaire practically sprints to his car, pulling out of his driveway and narrowly missing the mailbox. He drives down the street at a speed that is most definitely not legal, and feels like a NASCAR driver as he turns the corner, flying down the street.

    After about three minutes, he reaches Enjolras’s street, and pulls up at the curb outside of Enjolras’s house. He looks in the mirror above the seat, flattening his hair. He takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. He climbs out of the car, walking up the path and pressing the doorbell before he chickens out.

    The door swings open, and Grantaire is face-to-face with a woman whom Grantaire is presuming is Enjolras’s mother. She has blonde hair and blue eyes, and is glaring at Grantaire in a distinctly Enjolras-like way.

    “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she says in a clear, slightly clipped voice, extending her hand. Grantaire shakes it awkwardly.

    “Um, I’m Grantaire. I’m, um, friends with Enjolras.” She nods.

    “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even invite you in!” She smiles slightly, breaking her impassive expression. Grantaire nods, and steps in to Enjolras’s house.

    “Enjolras!” Grantaire hears a distant reply. Enjolras’s mom keeps yelling. “Your friend- Grantaire- is here.” Enjolras comes running down the stairs, hair falling into his eyes.

    “I didn’t expect you to be here so early,” is the first thing he says, brushing his hair back. “I only texted you five minutes ago. Otherwise I would have been ready.” Grantaire nods.

    “Trust me, I get it. I’m never ready for anything.” Enjolras’s mom smiles.

    “I’ll leave you two,” she says. “I have some work to do.” She disappears, and Grantaire hears a door closing from further in the house.

    “Um,” Enjolras says, clearing his throat. “Would you like to come upstairs?” Grantaire nods.

    “I mean, that’s kind of the reason I’m here.” Enjolras smiles slightly at this, and leads Grantaire up the stairs and to his room. HIs room is just as messy as it was the last time Grantaire had been there, and Enjolras’s laptop is open on his bed to a WikiHow entitled “How to Stage a Rally.” Enjolras follows Grantaire’s gaze, and slams the laptop shut, blushing slightly. Grantaire raises an eyebrow.

    “Courfeyrac would be better at this,” Enjolras ponders, walking to his closet and looking inside. “He says I have no style whatsoever. But I think I can wing it.” He pulls out a few shirts and eyes them critically. “How would you feel about wearing taupe?” Grantaire has no idea what that is, so he just shrugs. Enjolras shakes his head. “What if you just try stuff on, and we see what works?” he asks, handing the shirts to Grantaire. Grantaire holds them awkwardly for a moment, looking at them.

    “Um- right here?” Enjolras nods.

    “Why n- Oh, god, I can leave if you want… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Grantaire nods, and Enjolras steps outside. Grantaire examines the first shirt. It’s bright red, as many of the things Enjolras owns tend to be, and it’s a traditional button-down with a pocket on the left side. He pulls off his t-shirt and slides on the button-down. It feels smooth and silky against his skin, and it smells like Enjolras. Grantaire inhales deeply, mouth curving up into a small smile. Enjolras knocks on the door.

    “Can I see?” he asks. Grantaire opens the door, and Enjolras eyes him critically. Grantaire crosses his arms, feeling small all of a sudden.

    “It’s, um, red isn’t really my color,” he babbles, anything to draw Enjolras’s gaze away from how Grantaire is ruining his shirt, how he probably looks like a tomato, how he can’t pull off red the same way Enjolras can- looking like an avenging angel.

    “I actually like it,” Enjolras says softly, and it feels like he’s breaking some sort of wall between them. This entire visit thus far has been the epitome of awkward, both of them saying only what was necessary. But somehow Enjolras has broken this wall, and Grantaire smiles.

    “Yeah?” he says, turning in a slow circle, hand on his hip like a model. He sticks out his bottom lip in the pout that girls perfect on Instagram. Enjolras laughs.

    “Instagram-ready,” he says, smiling.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. I could be an Instagram model- it’s a valid career option for me.”

“Of course,” Enjolras says. “Don’t let your dreams be dreams. Courf can help you start your career.”

“Um, I don’t know if I want Courfeyrac to be in charge of my explosive career as an Instagram model. I’m sure you understand.” Enjolras laughs, nodding. “Can I see a mirror?” Grantaire asks.

    “Oh- sure!” Enjolras replies, leading Grantaire to a full-length mirror. Grantaire examines himself. He really doesn't look that bad. He doesn’t look like Enjolras, of course, but he looks… stronger, almost. He feels more confident. He smiles in the mirror, and the boy inside smiles back.

    “I like it,” he says, turning around to face Enjolras, overestimating the distance between them. His eyes widen as he realizes how close he is to Enjolras- how close he is to Enjolras’s lips. Enjolras’s eyes are wide too. He glances down, and then back up again, eyes boring into Grantaire’s.

    “Grantaire,” he whispers, and Grantaire stares up at him, feeling like he is about to hyperventilate. He can't do this- not again.

    “I- I have to go,” he croaks, breaking the spell and grabbing his t-shirt, not even bothering to put it back on. “I’ll take the shirt- I won’t ruin it, I promise,” he says, looking anywhere but Enjolras. He can feel Enjolras watching him as he does this.

    ‘Wait- Grantaire-” Enjolras calls after him, but Grantaire is already halfway down the stairs, running out the door, jumping into his car. He turns off the ignition and drives away, not looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading!!! I'm sorry this wasn't fluffier- fluff is so hard to write after non-stop angst but I tried my best!! Also this is Chapter 10 so YAY 10th anniversary!!! Thank you to those who have been here since the beginning, and to those who have joined partway through. Seeing new comments and kudos makes my day, and I really appreciate you all :)  
> The rally will be the next chapter, and it will (hopefully) be up next Monday. However, this might take a little bit longer since it's such a big chapter and SO MUCH happens but I will have it up by next Wednesday at the absolute latest!!! Please leave comments and kudos, they mean so much to me!!! Ilysm!!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “At our first meeting- you said you believed in nothing,” Enjolras whispers, and Grantaire swallows.  
> “I didn’t say that,” he says, and Enjolras looks like he’s thinking, and then his eyes widen in recognition.  
> “Nothing- except for me.” Grantaire nods. Enjolras bites his lip, looking inexplicably nervous. “Do you still?” Grantaire nods.  
> “You made me believe,” he says, and it sounds so fucking cheesy but it’s true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I'm just putting a trigger warning here for homophobia and violence- if this applies to you, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER.

The day of the rally dawns bright and clear- the perfect day to rebel, Grantaire thinks, pulling on the button-down that still smells like Enjolras. They have hardly spoken to one another since their almost-kiss a few days ago. Their  _ second  _ almost-kiss, to be precise. Grantaire sighs and flops down on his bed. Why did this have to be so complicated? He and Enjolras were close now- well, closer than they had been- and they could have kissed,  _ would have  _ kissed, if not for Grantaire and his stupid fear of-  _ what,  _ exactly? What was he so afraid of?

He ponders this for a bit as he lays sprawled out on his bed, staring at the faint cracks in the ceiling. He’s written a short speech about gun control and its necessity, especially where schools are concerned, but there’s not much he can say. He cares more about winning Enjolras’s approval than some speech, even though the press will be there. He texts Courfeyrac. 

**R:** ugh help 

**Courf:** what is it whats wrongggggg

**Courf:** tell me

**Courf:** is it the rally

**R:** it’s enjolras

**R:** i went to his house the other day and we almost kissed AGAIN courf it isnt fair and then i just fucking LEFT like wtf im so dumb

**Courf:** UM

**Courf:** YEAH

**Courf:** I KNOW

**Courf:** WHAT IS UP WITH THAT????

**R:** im sorry but HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW 

**Courf:** enjolras told me

**R:** shit

**R:** shit

**R:** shit

**Courf:** he doesnt understand why you left

**R:** well i dont either so like

**R:** it doesnt even matter he doesnt like me anyway

 

Grantaire lays his phone down on the bed, ignoring how it continues to buzz with more 

texts from Courfeyrac. He tugs at the sleeves of the button down, adjusting them to fit him better. He’s really just killing time until Jehan and Courfeyrac come to pick him up and take him to the rally.

He lays there for another few minutes, until he hears a honk outside. He jumps out of bed, grabbing his phone and running outside, door banging behind him. 

“Hey,” he says, breathless, as he slides into the backseat of the car. It’s covered with balls of crumpled paper that looks like it has all been ripped out of a sketchbook. 

“Hi!” Jehan says cheerfully. Courfeyrac beams at him.

“We’re making another stop…” he begins, and Grantaire looks at him in horror.

“No. Please, lord, spare me. Not today. Please.” Courfeyrac shakes his head, still smiling. For someone who seems so bright and perky, he can really be an evil little shit when he wants to. 

“There’s nothing you can do,” he sings, holding up his phone. “I already texted him that I was picking him up. Didn’t mention you would be here though, so let’s see how this goes.” He winks, and turns towards Jehan, who is struggling not to laugh. “I think it’ll go well.”

“I mean, providing Grantaire doesn’t screw it up…” Grantaire throws a wad of paper at him. Jehan laughs, and turns a corner, and Grantaire realizes that they’re on Enjolras’s street. He closes his eyes and says a quick prayer. Courfeyrac notices, and laughs.

“I didn’t think you were the type to pray,” he says.

“I’m Atheist,” Grantaire replies. Jehan giggles, and honks twice. The front door flies open and Enjolras storms out of the house, pushing curls out of his eyes. He’s wearing a red polo shirt with black pants, and Grantaire’s heart does not beat faster at the sight of him,  _ it does not.  _ Enjolras walks to the backseat, and sees Grantaire.

A plethora of emotions flicker across his face: surprise, annoyance, anxiousness, and what looks like a final expression of resignation. He opens the door. Grantaire slides over, pushing some paper wads onto the floor. Enjolras sits down, shutting the door. The sound echoes throughout the car, which is now devoid of chatter. Jehan begins to drive. Grantaire’s phone buzzes. 

 

**Courf:** SAY SOMETHING YOU BALL OF IGNORANCE

**Courf:** IF YOU DONT THEN I WILL

**R:** ITS NOT THAT EASY, WHAT DO I EVEN SAY

**Courf:** hang on i will start a convo

 

“So, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac says, and Grantaire becomes very worried. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says softly, his gaze flickering over to Grantaire for the tiniest second. “We all are though. Nobody is saying anything.” Grantaire’s face heats up, and he looks away. 

They ride in silence until they reach Town Hall, where the rally is being held. Combeferre, Bahorel, Feuilly, Marius, Eponine, and Cosette are already there, loading some stuff out of Bahorel’s minivan. Grantaire jumps out of the car, running over to them, just to get away from Enjolras. 

“Hey,” he says to them, and Bahorel grins at him.

“Hey man,” he says. “Do you mind helping me with these speakers and the other shit?” “Sure,” Grantaire replies, hoisting a speaker up and out of the truck. Enjolras,

Courfeyrac, and Jehan have all arrived now, and they’re standing awkwardly off to the side, seemingly unsure of what to do.

“I would help,” Enjolras begins, “but I have zero upper body strength. So I am useless in this scenario.” 

“Well,” Courfeyrac begins, and Grantaire shoots him a warning glare, which he ignores, “you could help Grantaire with that speaker. Since it’s two of you, it would probably be fine.” Enjolras seems unsure of how to react to this statement, and settles with nodding, walking over to where Grantaire is standing.

“I’ll take one end,” he says, gripping the top of it. Grantaire nods, and lifts it from the bottom, and they carry it over to where there is already a jumble of sound equipment.

“Okay, set it down right here,” Grantaire calls, and Enjolras grunts in acknowledgment. They set it down, and Enjolras lets out a breath, plopping down to the ground. “Are you okay?” Grantaire asks. Enjolras waves him away.

“I’m fine.” His voice is breathy, and his face is red. Grantaire snorts.

“You don’t seem fine. Did you really use up all of your stamina by lifting half of a speaker twenty feet?” Enjolras glares at him.

“I’m  _ fine, _ Grantaire.” He climbs to his feet, and stalks off to where bahorel and the rest of the group stand, still crowded around the pickup truck. Grantaire blinks. What the fuck had just happened? He shakes his head, and follows Enjolras back to the truck. 

Bossuet, Joly, and Musichetta have finally arrived, and are explaining why they were late. Grantaire stands next to Eponine, listening. Musichetta is talking, and Bossuet looks sheepish, while Joly is shaking with suppressed laughter. 

“So Bossuet here decided he wanted to take a shower before the rally, right? So he tells us that he’s doing that so that we pick him up last. So we get to his house, and we honk, but he doesn’t come outside, and obviously we get worried, because, well, it’s Bossuet. So we go inside and upstairs because we hear the water running, and we see Bossuet sitting in the shower, completely naked, bawling.” Musichetta pauses here, looking towards Bossuet and smiling. She gestures to Joly to continue the story. He gladly obliges. 

“So we’re like, hey what’s the matter, and he says that he was washing his face with, like, this super strong face wash for acne or some shit and he got it into his eyes- like, both of them. So he’s sitting on the floor of the shower, crying, and we have to help him wash it out and get dressed and stuff because he’s like temporarily blind, and it took  _ forever.  _ So yeah.” Grantaire looks at Bossuet, who is grinning bashfully. He’s amazed by how all of these things happen to him- things that would shame Grantaire to no end, but Bossuet just smiles and laughs and brushes it off, happy to continue moving on in life. Grantaire realizes that he looks up to Bossuet somewhat- he wishes he could have that kind of ability. 

He looks over at Enjolras, who is smiling slightly, but still looks a little annoyed at- at what? Grantaire had made him annoyed earlier, he knows that, but  _ why? _ He grabs Courfeyrac and pulls him away.

“What?” Courfeyrac asks, looking at Grantaire confusedly. Grantaire quickly recounts what had happened, and Courfeyrac strokes his chin thoughtfully. 

“Enjolras,” he begins, “does not like to be accused of not being able to do something.”

“But he was _so_ _upset._ That can’t only be because he’s stubborn or whatever.” Courfeyrac grins.

“I think it was because it was you saying it,” he says, and Grantaire blinks.

“What,” he says stupidly, and Courfeyrac sighs.

“Let me explain. He doesn’t like to be accused of not being able to do something, right? He feels like it makes him seem weak, or like he isn’t able to do anything for himself, or some shit like that. But if  _ you  _ were to say it, he might feel even more self-conscious than normal, because you’re the one noticing it, if you get my drift.” Grantaire does not get his drift, not at all. Courfeyrac sees this, and sighs. “Must I spell it out for you?”

“I guess, since I have no clue  _ what  _ the hell you’re talking about!”

“Enjolras has feelings for you, or so I believe. He just doesn’t know it yet.” Grantaire’s mouth falls open. He shuts it quickly, and shakes his head. 

“No. No, no, no, he doesn’t have feelings for me. He told me about the guy he likes- it’s not me.” Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow.

“What did he say about the guy?”

“He had, like, brown hair and brown eyes, and thought Enjolras was annoying, which I obviously don’t think!” 

“Well, how would Enjolras know that? Ninety percent of the time, you guys just argue. You don’t generally argue that much with people who you don’t think are annoying.” Grantaire shakes his head vigorously.

“No. It’s not me.” Courfeyrac’s mouth tightens.    
“Stop being so hard on yourself. You’re awesome, Grantaire. You’re smart, and funny, and even if you don’t think so, you’re not bad-looking. I’d give you a seven on your bad days, eight on your good. Actually, today you might even be a nine. That shirt looks awesome on you.”

“It’s Enjolras’s,” Grantaire mutters, picking at the hem self-consciously. Courfeyrac laughs.

“See? Enjolras has  _ never  _ offered to lend anything to me.  _ Ever.  _ Or Combeferre. And he’s know us since we were, like, six or seven. So you guys are already practically dating.” 

“So, what, just because he lent me a shirt-”

“No, it’s  _ not  _ just that. It’s that, and how he reacts to you, and just  _ everything.  _ He’s obsessed with you, he just needs to realize it.” Grantaire runs a hand through his curls. 

“Whatever. Even if that were true- which it isn’t- what would I even do about it?”

“ _ Ask him out, _ ” Courfeyrac says. Grantaire shake his head.

“Um, no. Not happening. Um, actually-” he chances a quick look behind him, to where the rest of the group is still huddled around the truck, talking and laughing. He sees Enjolras, the sun shining off of his golden curls, and his heart skips. “I should be getting back,” he says, and Courfeyrac rolls his eyes.

“Fine. Deny it. I’m just trying to help you get the man of your dreams.” He gives a theatrical sigh, and walks with Grantaire back to the truck.

“I think we’re just about doen setting up,” Bahorel is saying when they arrive. Everyone nods in agreement. Enjolras steps forwards.

“Does anyone have any questions about technicalities? Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” 

“I do,” Combeferre says. Enjolras nods at him to continue. “Is there an order for speaking, or would it just be random?”

“There isn’t an order right now,” Enjolras says. “But we can make one. It’s you, me, Courfeyrac, and Grantaire. Does anyone want a specific spot?” 

“Can I go last?” Courfeyrac asks excitedly. “The grand finale, you know how it is. We’ve got to end on something good- no offense to any of you.” Enjolras nods.

“I’ll go second,” Combeferre volunteers. “I don’t think I should start- my speech isn’t rousing enough for that.” Enjolras grins.

“You just want me to go first,” he says, and Combeferre laughs.

“Well, your speeches are generally really angry, but they tend to get the crowd worked up, which is good.” Enjolras nods.

“So Grantaire will go third. Does everyone have a speech prepped?” Grantaire has actually prepared for this, for once in his life, and nods along with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. His speech has been typed in the Notes app on his phone, and is about six paragraphs. Not a lot, but since he’s going third, it shouldn’t matter. Anyway, they’re long paragraphs. 

“Let’s do a sound check,” Feuilly announces, walking over to the podium that has been set up and tapping on the mic. “Check, check,” he says into the mic, and the sound blasts throughout the space. Grantaire winces.

“Oof,” Feuilly mutters, fiddling with a few switches. He repeats the procedure until the sound is at an acceptable level for everyone, before walking back over. Enjolras has pulled out a piece of creased paper from his pocket, and is reading it intently, brow furrowed.

“We need people to run a table for the club,” he says, looking up. “Does anyone want to do that? Just for the press and stuff, so there’s a place they can go to ask questions, and if people are interested in that.” 

“I’ll help,” Jehan says. Enjolras smiles.

“Same,” Eponine says. “Does anyone else want to?” 

“I will,” Cosette says, walking over to stand beside Eponine. Eponine’s jaw tightens for a moment, but she smiles and nods at Cosette, who beams back at her. Jehan grins.

“This is, like, the cool people group,” he says, and Eponine and Cosette laugh. 

“Right,” Enjolras says, glancing back down at the paper. “That leaves Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Bahorel without a specific job.” 

“I’ll hand out pamphlets or something,” Bahorel volunteers. “If we have any.” 

“We should have a box of them in your truck,” Enjolras says, looking suddenly worried. He peers into the back of the truck, eyes scanning until they land on a small cardboard box. He breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Okay. You and Musichetta should do that. Joly, Marius, and Bossuet can help Feuilly with the sound.” Joly and Bossuet nod, and Enjolras smiles. “This is awesome. What time is it?”

“We start in about fifteen minutes,” Combeferre says, looking at his phone. 

“Yay! Free time!” Courfeyrac shounts, dragging Combeferre to a bench by the steps and shoving him down. He proceeds to make out with him furiously, much to Grantaire’s horror. Enjolras looks away.

“Well, I suppose you can do something not entirely rally-related for now,” he says slowly, and the group disperses, leaving just Enjolras and Grantaire. 

“Do you think this will work?” Grantaire asks, forcing himself to look Enjolras directly in the eye. Enjolras meets his gaze.”

“Yes,” he says calmly. “Do I think that our town will suddenly become a liberal haven? No. But do I think that this will convince some people to abandon what they have previously believed? Yes.” His eyes narrow. “Do you not believe that?”

“No,” Grantaire says slowly. 

“Then why are you speaking,” Enjolras hisses, and it’s phrased like a question, but it isn’t one. Grantaire raises his eyebrows, processing this sudden change in mood.

“You- you helped me believe in a cause. I think that gun laws should be stricter.” The fire vanishes from Enjolras’s eyes replaced by something else. 

“At our first meeting- you said you believed in nothing,” Enjolras whispers, and Grantaire swallows.

“I didn’t say that,” he says, and Enjolras looks like he’s thinking, and then his eyes widen in recognition.

“Nothing- except for me.” Grantaire nods. Enjolras bites his lip, looking inexplicably nervous. “Do you still?” Grantaire nods. 

“You made me believe,” he says, and it sounds so fucking cheesy but it’s true. He didn’t think he was capable in believing in a cause, in caring enough to believe, until Enjolras. Enjolras’s lips part slightly, and-

“Look!” he says, pointing behind Grantaire. Grantaire swivels around. A man is climbing out of a sleek black car, followed by a few cameramen. He has the large, fake smile commonly seen on newscasters, and he’s wearing an impeccably tailored gray suit. He walks over to them, and Grantaire’s fists clench involuntarily. He doesn’t know why, only that this man gives him the creeps. 

“Hello!” the man says, still smiling broadly. “I’m Felix Tholomyes, but you can call me Felix.” He winks. “I’d just like to ask you all a few questions about your, ah, rally here?” He looks around, frowning slightly. “Seems like nobody has really shown up yet, now have they.” 

“Well, Felix, it would seem as though you’re early!” Enjolras says, smiling brightly. “Don’t worry- we can take the extra time to tell you  _ all about  _ our cause and what we are fighting for.” 

“Wonderful,” Felix manages, looking slightly ill at the thought. Grantaire stifles a laugh. Enjolras walks him over to the table that Jehan, Eponine, and Cosette have just finished setting up. There is a little stack of pamphlets with a small paperweight holding them down, and a clear plastic box for donations. Taped to the front of the red paper tablecloth is a sign that says “Questions? Don’t hesitate to ask!” with a smiley face drawn in Sharpie and colored in with a yellow colored pencil. The news crew follows the two of them, all except one cameraman, who seems like he’s waiting for someone. Sure enough, another woman climbs out of the van, smoothing down her navy skirt. She has short brown hair cut into a fashionable bob, and the same big smile as Felix. She walks over to Grantaire.

“Hi! I’m Zephine Antoine.” She extends her hand and Grantaire takes it. Her hand is small and fragile, and Grantaire shakes it gingerly, hoping he won’t crush it. “Are you an organizer for the rally?”

“I- um- it’s not- I guess so,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s my club too. From school. It’s mainly him,” he says, pointing to Enjolras, who seems determined to give Felix the complete introduction to everyone in the club, as well as background information about how he met all of them. 

“The blond?” Grantaire nods. “Lovely. Since he looks a little busy, would you mind telling me a little bit about this, ah, rally here, and what you all are protesting, exactly?” She holds a microphone to Grantaire’s face, and Grantaire swallows. He can feel his face heating up, and he tugs self-consciously at the collar of his- Enjolras’s- shirt. 

“Um- gun control, I guess. Or rather, the lack of gun control.” Zephine nods, encouraging him to go on. He takes a deep breath, and the words spill out of him.

“People just don’t get it. Kids are literally being  _ murdered  _ in schools, and nobody is doing anything to stop it. People care more about protecting their guns than about protecting the lives of the nation’s children, and that’s all there is to it. They surround their arguments with fluff, but at the end of the day, they just  _ don’t care. _ ” Zephine’s smile has grown more forced, but she nods. 

“Well, what about the argument that the NRA makes? I personally find that to be very compelling- the “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” argument.” Grantaire shakes his head.

“It’s bullshit- but we should probably stop for now. You’ll get more answers when people make their speeches- especially from Enjolras,” he says.

“Is Enjolras the blond?” Zephine asks, and Grantaire nods. She smiles. “Thank you for your time.” She walks away towards Enjolras, heels clacking on the stone. The cameraman follows her. He looks absolutely miserable. 

Grantaire takes a deep breath and looks around. People are starting to arrive; there’s a young woman with a blonde ponytail talking to Musichetta, who is nodding and smiling, and there are a few kids who Grantaire can recall seeing in the hallway talking to Bahorel. Well, Bahorel is doing most of the talking, giving them pamphlets and gesticulating wildly, but they appear to be listening attentively. A few more people have gathered by the steps, checking their phones or observing their surroundings. The rally is scheduled to start in about five minutes, so Grantaire walks over to Combeferre and Courfeyrac who have (thankfully) stopped making out and are having a conversation.

“... but I don’t  _ care,  _ Ferre, we need to have glitter corsages!”

“You haven’t even asked me to prom and you’re already planning the corsages?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Grantaire says, glancing between the two of them, “but I think we’re starting soon.” They look around. A few more people have gathered including a woman with two little girls wearing matching blue dresses, and-

“Oh no,” Combeferre says in a low voice. Montparnasse has shown up for the rally, along with some of his friends. Grantaire doesn’t know the names of half of them, only that they’re complete bigots and have a part in terrorizing all of the freshmen who come into the school each year. They’re snickering and pointing at Enjolras, whose face is currently flushed and has wild, angry eyes as he rants to Felix, who looks slightly frightened. Montparnasse is wearing a leather jacket and a cruel smirk as he looks over at the smattering of people on the steps, and Grantaire feels a hot wave of anger rise within him. He pushes it down, however, and goes over to Enjolras.

“Enjolras.  _ Enjolras. _ ” Enjolras looks at him, annoyed.

“ _ What _ ?” Grantaire points. Enjolras’s eyes narrow when he spies Montparnasse and his friends, but he just nods. “Let them stay here. It doesn’t matter. They can’t really do anything to us, not with witnesses or anything, right?” Grantaire doesn’t know the logistics of this, but it sounds pretty reasonable to him, so he nods. Satisfied, Enjolras turns back to Felix. 

“I think I need to start speaking, but this chat has been nice. I hope I’ve illuminated your perspective on things!” He saunters away, leaving Felix stunned in his wake. 

Enjolras climbs the steps and situates himself behind the podium that Bahorel and Joly had set up earlier. He shuffles some papers, and clears his throat into the microphone. 

“Excuse me,” he says, voice ringing out across the crowd. Everyone collectively looks up. Enjolras clears his throat again before he begins to speak.

Grantaire doesn’t know what he’s saying, only what it’s about, but even if he didn’t know what on earth Enjolras was talking about, he would support it. Even if it was something ridiculous, like giving all pigs custom glitter Converse. Enjolras’s hair is glowing in the early morning sunlight, and it creates a halo around his head, making him look like some sort of angel descended from heaven to bestow his wisdom upon the mortals. His eyes are flashing, and you can  _ hear  _ the passion in his voice, the inflection upon certain words. He truly cares about this- and he is willing to do  _ anything  _ to change the world and make it a better place- not just for himself, but for everyone. 

Everyone else clearly has the same mentality as Grantaire, because they are all staring at him, mouths slightly ajar. Even Felix and Zephine look speechless, and Grantaire feels a strange sort of satisfaction. Now they see what they’re up against. After all, how can the bigots win when there are people like Enjolras on the opposing side, people who make you stop what you’re doing just to listen, just to bask in the glory of their words? His words are like a tidal wave; they have the power to destroy, and they hit you like a sack of bricks, blinding you with their truth and humanity. 

Enjolras finishes what he’s saying by starting a chant (“Hey hey! Ho ho! The NRA has got to go!”) and the kids from school that Grantaire had seen earlier begin to repeat it, saying it louder and louder until Enjolras says a quiet “thank you” into the microphone and steps away from the podium. There is a smattering of applause. A few more people have joined now, and Grantaire swallows from where he stands with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. Suddenly, the few paragraphs he has hastily typed out on his phone feel… small, insignificant. 

Combeferre steps up, clutching a few folded pieces of paper. He taps gently on the microphone before clearing his throat and looking out over the small crowd. 

When Combeferre speaks, it’s not like a tidal wave like Enjolras. It’s more like the calm just before a storm: like you know you’re about to witness something big, and this is informing you of it. His voice is calm, his facts precise. He appeals to the businessman in everyone: the logical, meticulous side who wants to make sure what they do is backed up by logic and a sense of righteousness.

Combeferre finishes, and Courfeyrac sanuters up to the podium, smiling out at the crowd. Intercepting Combeferre, he kisses him on the cheek, and Combeferre smiles. Then it happens. 

“Faggots,” coomes a voice, just loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough so as to be identified. Grantaire’s body turns to ice. He doesn’t even need to turn around to know who said it. Combeferre freezes. Grantaire looks over at Enjolras, whose eyes have just darkened with rage. He jumps up and turns around. Grantaire looks as well, stomach tightening in dread. The students from their high school are scurrying away, casting frightened looks over their shoulders, still clutching their pamphlets. One of the men is staring, open-mouthed, and the young woman with the blonde ponytail has the audacity to be  _ filming  _ the situation, as if it’s just another interesting thing to add to her Snapchat story. 

Most of the people are dispersing, however, not looking back, happy to just walk away and let whatever is about to happen take its course. Grantaire sees that he was right, he’s always been right. People don’t want to help. All people want is to do what’s best for themselves, even if it means allowing others to get hurt in the process. They can’t change; they  _ won’t  _ change. It’s just human nature. 

“Who said that?” Enjolras says, and his voice is eerily calm. Montparnasse steps forwards. There is an arrogant smirk playing around the corners of his lips, and his arms are crossed. His friends stand behind him, staring menacingly out at the group. Grantaire looks around at everyone. Jehan’s face has gone pale, and Cosette has her hands clapped over her mouth. Eponine looks enraged, and is gripping the table. Bahorel’s face is growing redder and redder every second, and Feuilly, Marius, Bossuet, and Joly just look horrified. Musichetta has a terrifying look on her face, and has set down her stack of pamphlets to tie up her hair, preparing for the fight she knows is about to come. 

“I did, and I’ll say it again. Faggots,” Montparnasse sneers. “You’re all just a bunch of pathetic fags who want attention.” The ice inside Grantaire turns to rage, and he jumps up. Before he can do anything, however, Bahorel is upon him, punching and kicking. Montparnasse’s friends won’t have this though- they jump into the fray. The bystanders step back, shocked. The woman with the two little girls hurries them away. Grantaire runs over, jumping on top of a boy whom he thinks is called Clasqueous, and punching every inch of him that he can reach. Clasqueous snarls, and bites down on Grantaire’s arm, eliciting a sharp cry. Grantaire pulls his fist back and rams it into the boy’s nose, and he hears something crack. Bright red blood runs down his face, coating his lips in some sort of garish lipstick. 

Someone is pulling Grantaire away, gripping his wrist tight, but he’s resisting, he  _ needs  _ to resist, needs to fight, to hurt, to make this boy feel as much pain as he can. 

“Grantaire,” a voice hisses in his ear, and he vaguely recognizes it as Eponine. “ _ Grantaire.  _ Stop. Now. The police are on their way.” He doesn’t care. He yanks his wrist away, diving back into the fray. Clasqueous is gone, and Grantaire looks around for someone who he can hurt, who he can take out all of his rage and frustration on, whom he can torture for having the nerve to say that unforgivable word to someone who has quickly become one of his best friends. 

He spies Montparnasse and Enjolras locked in a wrestling match. Montparnasse has Enjolras pinned down to the ground and is straddling him, holding his arms down with one hand and gripping his throat with the other as Enjolras thrashes beneath him, and Grantaire doesn’t even think about it, he just runs over and yanks Montparnasse off of him, landing three quick punches in rapid succession. All he can think is  _ he wants Enjolras dead he wants Enjolras dead.  _

The force of his punches knocks Montparnasse off of Enjolras, and Enjolras climbs out from underneath him clutching his throat and taking heaving breaths. Courfeyrac and Combeferre are by his side instantly, and help him to his feet. Feuilly is talking on the phone, and Grantaire can’t watch anymore. He has more important matters to attend to at the moment. 

He turns back to Montparnasse, who is cracking his knuckles menacingly, and takes a wider stance, preparing himself for what is to come. But nothing can prepare him for when Montparnasse’s fist collides with his nose, sending a wave of pain throughout Grantaire’s face, and making him fall to the ground, blacking out for a second from the sheer pain.

He’s on his knees on the bloodstained stone, clutching his nose. He felt it break, he heard it break, and he can feel the blood flowing down his face, can taste the metallic tang of it. It’s karma, he thinks bitterly. He grits his teeth and removes his hands, continuing to attack Montparnasse, ignoring the hands trying to pull him away,  _ why are they so persistent,  _ can’t they just leave him alone? Once again, he tears himself away from their grip, but it throws himself off balance, and he stumbles into Montparnasse, who catches him.

He looks at him for a second, brown eyes into hazel, and then Montparnasse has jumped on top of him, and Grantaire’s head hits the ground, and everything goes dark.

 

When he wakes up, the light is bright and everything is white, and he thinks he’s in heaven for a second. Then, he laughs at the thought. 

“He’s awake,” someone says, and Eponine is by his side. Her eyes are red, and Grantaire sees tear tracks streaked across her face. 

“Are you okay?” he croaks, and Eponine nods, looking like she’s choking back tears. “Where’s Enjolras?” He sits up, and the world goes dark for a second before Eponine eases him back down onto the pillows. 

“Shhh. Don’t overexert yourself. You- you have a concussion, Grantaire. And a broken nose. You’ve been asleep for almost a day.” Grantaire reaches up to feel his nose, which has indeed been heavily bandaged. “Enjolras is- he’s okay. He has a lot of bruises and cuts, but he’ll be fine. Do you want me to tell people you’re awake so they can see you?” Grantaire nods slowly, not really knowing what he’s agreeing to. From what he can tell, Enjolras is fine, and that’s all that he cares about right now. 

Eponine nods, and Grantaire hears a door open. Chatter flows from the room outside, and is quickly stopped by Eponine, who announces something in a low voice, too quiet for Grantaire to hear. Then he hears a rush of feet, and suddenly there are twelve faces staring down at him. He smiles sheepishly. 

Just then, the door swings open, and Grantaire raises his head to see a nurse standing there, hands on her hips.

“Everyone out!” she calls. “He can only have one visitor at a time right now- we can’t overwhelm him.” There are groans of disappointment, and a few moments of whispering while everyone decides who should stay, and then the door is closing again, leaving Grantaire alone with- Enjolras. Of course. The nurse leaves, choosing to reposition herself outside of Grantaire’s room to ward off his friends, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire to stare awkwardly at each other. 

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asks. His voice sounds hoarse. Grantaire nods. Enjolras sinks down into a chair, burying his face in his hands. Grantaire huffs a quiet laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire clears his throat; it’s slightly hoarse from lack of use. 

“It’s just- I knew it, is all. I  _ knew  _ this would all go to hell. And it did. I mean, look at me. Face it, we can’t change people.” Enjolras’s eyes narrow at this, and Grantaire can sense the oncoming argument. It’s the same one they’ve had all year, their beliefs colliding: idealist and cynic. 

“Then why even bother?” Enjolras asks, standing up suddenly. “Why have you even  _ come  _ to our meetings, or volunteered to speak at our rally, or acted like you  _ cared _ ? What was it all for?” Grantaire shakes his head in warning, but Enjolras continues. “No, stop it, I need to know. If you’re so insistent in this belief that people can’t be changed, then why did you bother coming to a club that was  _ founded  _ on this belief? What made you stay, Grantaire?”

“You!” Grantaire explodes. Enjolras blinks, startled.

“What?” 

Grantaire takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes tight. There’s no going back now. “When I first started coming to meetings, I came back because I thought you were hot. But- then I got to know you, and you’re… you’re amazing, Enjolras. You make me want to believe, honestly.” He opens his eyes to see Enjolras standing next to his bed, eyes wide, looking down at him. “Oh god… please don’t hate me-”

“I don’t,” Enjolras says quietly. HIs gaze is still fixed on Grantaire. “Please- please tell me if I’m overstepping my boundaries-” he cuts himself off and presses his lips to Grantaire’s. 

It’s like an explosion. Every single nerve in Grantaire’s entire body is on fire. His senses are heightened, feeling Enjolras’s hand in his hair send out electric shocks throughout his body, memorizing the shape and feel of Enjolras’s lips against his own. It’s fiery and perfect and he never imagined that it would happen here, of all places, but he really doesn’t mind at all. 

Enjolras pulls away all too soon, and Grantaire stares up at him, eyes wide. Enjolras’s face is flushed and his lips are swollen and he looks  _ unbelievably hot.  _

“Was- was that okay?” Grantaire gives a high-pitched sort of laugh.

“Was it-   _ yes,  _ Enjolras, it was more than okay, it… it was…” He trails off, searching for the right words to describe it, but there really aren’t any. How can you describe the best feeling of your life?

Enjolras smiles, and sits back down next to Grantaire. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, I think,” he says softly. “But I thought you hated me.”

“Funny, I thought the same thing about you,” Grantaire remarks. Enjolras rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, Combeferre and Courfeyrac say I have a, ah, tendency to come across as… kind of aggressive.”

“Kind of?” Enjolras punches him lightly in the shoulder. They sit there for a while, smiling at each other like total idiots, until the door opens again. It’s the nurse, holding a clipboard and looking slightly annoyed.

“Excuse me Mr…” she looks through her notes. “... Grantaire. Your parents are here, they want to see you.” Grantaire’s face grows hot. He’s been in the hospital for an entire  _ day _ and it’s only  _ now  _ that his parents want to see him? He knows he isn’t at the top of their priority list, and never has been, if we’re being entirely honest, but it hadn’t really sunk in until now. He can see the standing behind the nurse; his mom in a black pantsuit, hair twisted into a sensible bun at the nape of her neck, his dad in charcoal gray slacks with a white button-down and blue tie, jacket slung over his shoulder. 

“You can say no,” the nurse whispers. Her name tag reads  _ Dahlia  _ in curling script. “Personally, I would. You’ve been here for a  _ day. _ ” She steps back after saying this, crossing her arms. But Grantaire can’t just let his parents  _ not  _ see him. The fact that they’re here proves that they still care about him, at least enough to drive here, right?

“Yeah, they can see me,” Grantaire says, looking down at the sheets. Dahlia frowns slightly, but says nothing, just going to the door to let them in. Enjolras gets up.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he says. Grantaire wants to protest, wants Enjolras to stay, but he doesn’t have the right words. Instead, he nods. Enjolras squeezes his hand for just a quick second, and Grantaire looks back up to see the ghost of a smile on Enjolras’s face before he steps out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!!! (Sorry if the fight scene was bad, I have never been in a fight so I was mind of making stuff up as I went along.) This was a pretty heavy chapter, but Chapter 12 will be up next Monday, and will be more light-hearted. Please leave comments and kudos!!! Additionally, I now have a lot more free time on my hands. So if you have any ideas for other Les Mis fics I can start (in addition to continuing this one) please leave me a comment with an idea!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’d you need to tell me, Enjolras?” he asks, closing the door and walking over to his boyfriend (his boyfriend!!!), taking his hands. Enjolras takes a breath, pulling his hands from Grantaire’s grip. Grantaire backs up, feeling slightly stung.

    The door swings shut behind Enjolras. Grantaire watches him go helplessly. His parents enter the room slowly, looking around. They seem unsettled.

    “Grantaire, sweetie!” His mom cries, rushing over to the bed and peering down at him. Her hair swings around her face. Grantaire’s father stays behind her, smiling awkwardly. His mom is adjusting the sheets, tucking them under him. “Is this light too bright for you?” she asks him, glancing up at the light above his bed. “We can probably get a darker shade… Oh sweetie, I’m so glad you’re okay… we came as soon as we heard!”

    “No, you didn’t,” Grantaire says quietly. His mother steps away, looking at him questioningly. “You didn’t come right away,” Grantaire says, louder. “I’ve been asleep for almost an entire day. Eponine told me.” Grantaire’s mom opens her mouth and closes it again, looking at a loss for words.

    “So!” Grantaire’s dad says, walking over and smiling in an attempt to dispel the sudden awkwardness that has crept up between them. “Who was that blond boy? Is he a friend of yours?”

    “Enjolras?” Grantaire says. “He’s, um…” What exactly _is_ Enjolras? A friend? No, friends don’t kiss other friends- not on the lips anyway, he edits, remembering Courfeyrac. But definitely not a boyfriend. “He’s the leader of a club I’m in,” he says instead, and his parents glance at each other questioningly.

    “You’re in a club?” his mom asks, surprised. Grantaire rolls his eyes.

    “Is it that much of a surprise?”

    “Well- no- I mean, you never showed much interest in joining clubs before!” Because _of course_ she would know, because of all of the time she’s spent with him over the course of his high school career. “What kind of club is it?”

    “A social justice club,” he answers, voice flat. “We had a rally. That’s how I got this-” he points to his broken nose- “and this,” he finishes, pointing to his head. His mother’s hands fly up to cover her mouth.

    “Oh my,” she says. “That’s not good.” Then Grantaire snaps.

    “No. No, it’s not good. And do you know what else isn’t good? It’s not good that I was here for an _entire day_ without my fucking _parents._ It’s not good that I’m the one responsible for making dinner for myself _every fucking night._ You never even taught me how to cook! The only things I ever eat are omelettes and pasta, and sometimes salad. Occasionally sushi, if I get takeout. It’s not good that I never see you, that I have no curfew because whenever I get home will still be earlier than when you get home. Do you even _know_ where I go? Do you even _care_ ? I’ve gotten drunk, I’ve gotten high, I’ve stayed over at people’s houses because I was too intoxicated to drive and I’ve checked my phone the next morning and _nothing._ No calls, no texts, no concern over where I am or what I might be doing. I could have _died_ in this rally, I could literally be dead, and you wouldn’t have known until today.” Grantaire wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. His mother reaches for him, but he pushes her away. “Please leave,” he says softly.

    “But-”

    “ _Get out!”_ he screams, and his parents glance at one another before hurrying out of the room. They look like mice, the way they scamper out of the door, casting a frightened look over their shoulders. The door shuts, and Grantaire rolls over so his face is buried in the pillow and closes his eyes, breathing as deeply as he can.

    “Grantaire?” Grantaire peeks out from the pillow. Enjolras is standing in the doorway. “Can I come in?” Grantaire just looks at him, feeling like he might cry. Mistaking his hesitation for reluctance, Enjolras quickly adds “Only if you want- I respect your privacy-”

    “Yes, come in,” Grantaire says, rolling over onto his back. Enjolras shuts the door softly behind him, walking over to sit in the same chair that Grantaire’s mother had just left.

    “Are you okay?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire meets his eyes.

    “You don’t have to do this.”

    “Do what?” Enjolras asks, looking genuinely confused.

    “This. Being… all nice to me just because you kissed me.” Enjolras rolls his eyes, and Grantaire resists the urge to smile. That simple gesture just felt so… familiar. It was the one constant, the one part of their relationship that hadn’t changed.

    “I’m not being nice to you because I kissed you, idiot,” Enjolras says hotly, not meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “I… I don’t regret kissing you. I want to see if you’re okay.” The second part goes in one ear and out the other, because there is no way Enjolras just said what Grantaire thinks he just said.

    “You don’t regret it?” he says, blinking slowly. “Why?” Enjolras groans.

    “What is with you and your insistence to not see the good in yourself?”

    “Because there is nothing good to see,” Grantaire replies, annoyed. “We’ve been over this.”

    “Yes, we have, and there are _so many_ good things- Grantaire, I’ve been trying not to kiss you for about a _month_!” Grantaire freezes.

    “Oh.”

    “Do you want to know what I like about you? Because I’ll tell you- I’ll tell you everything.” Grantaire nods, feeling slightly overwhelmed but not wanting it to end. Enjolras takes a deep breath.

    “I like your hair,” he begins, words coming out in a rush. “I like how it’s always messy and it looks like you just rolled out of bed- it makes me want to play with it.” He buries his face in his hands, blushing furiously before raising his head again and continuing. “I love your smile- it’s so rare to see you smile, like _actually_ smile, but when you do it’s blinding and beautiful and I love being the one that caused it. I love your personality- how you act like you’re this cold, hard cynic who just doesn’t care, but at the end of the day, you’re the one that cares the most out of all of us. You’re so smart too, all of your arguments that you use against mine are so good and I’m honestly so jealous that you can think of them so quickly like that- even if they do go against everything I believe in. And I know you think you’re hideous, but- you’re really not. I think you’re very attractive.” Enjolras looks Grantaire directly in the eye. His blush is gone- he’s saying all of this like he’s just stating fact, and Grantaire is going to cry. “I like you a lot, Grantaire, and I know this isn’t romantic or special or anything but- do you want to go to prom with me?” Grantaire can’t breathe. This cannot be happening. So many months spent pining after this boy whom he believed to be untouchable- this boy who is looking back at him with wide, uncertain eyes, chewing his bottom lip, scared of rejection, scared to be rejected by _him,_ Grantaire.

    “Yes,” Grantaire whispers. “Yes, I do- holy shit Enjolras, I really want to.” He’s crying now but he doesn’t care. Enjolras leans over and hugs him, accidentally bumping Grantaire’s nose in the process and making him hiss in pain.

    “Shit- are you okay?”

    “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine- just-” Grantaire sits up taller, and cups Enjolras’s face in his hands. “Is this okay?” Enjolras nods, and Grantaire kisses him, being careful not to knock his nose into any part of Enjolras’s face. It sets his body on fire again, but it’s not a raging fire like it was before, the kind that burns up forests and destroys cities. This fire is calm, peaceful, the fire that you roast marshmallows over with your friends as you talk and laugh, the fire that you sit in front of in the winter, wrapped in a blanket with a book and mug of cocoa. It’s warm and familiar and _Enjolras,_ and Grantaire doesn’t think that this will ever get old.

    “Should I come back later?” Grantaire breaks apart from Enjolras and looks towards the doorway to see a grinning Courfeyrac. He holds up his middle finger, and Courfeyrac pouts. “Come on! Let me get a picture for the group chat at least…” he pleads, holding up his phone. Enjolras looks at Grantaire, mouth quirked in a kind of half-smile.

    “Do you want to? If you don’t, that’s okay,” Grantaire says, words coming out in a rush. Enjolras kisses him in answer. Grantaire hears Courfeyrac’s squeal of delight as he snaps picture after picture, and pulls Enjolras closer. They break apart, and Courfeyrac plops down on the bed with Grantaire, scrolling through the pictures.

    “Okay, this one or this one?” he says, switching between two pictures that Grantaire can see no difference in. “This one has better lighting, but this one just seems cuter, I don’t know why, it just gives me that _vibe,_ you know?” Enjolras shakes his head, staring at Courfeyrac as though he’s a puzzle that Enjolras can’t figure out how to solve. “Oh well,” Courfeyrac says cheerfully, “I guess I’ll just send them all.”

    “All?” Grantaire asks. “How many are there?” Courfeyrac hums as he counts.

    “Twenty-six.” Enjolras rolls his eyes.

    “Only you,” he says to Courfeyrac, and Courfeyrac grins.

    “I’m such a special snowflake.” Grantaire laughs. Courfeyrac sits back on his heels, looking immensely pleased with himself. “So? Any plans for prom?” He winks.

    “We’re going together,” Enjolras says, clutching Grantaire’s hand possessively. Courfeyrac shrieks so loud that it’s a wonder no nurses come running in to check on him.

    “Oh my god! I didn’t actually think you two could do it! Wow- the mutual pining and obliviousness actually wore off! It’s a miracle!” Courfeyrac reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bag of glitter, which he proceeds to pour onto Enjolras and Grantaire’s heads.

    “What the _fuck,_ Courf,” Grantaire states. Courfeyrac smiles.

    “A baptism of your relationship! Don’t fuck it up!” And with that, he saunters out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

    “Who carries glitter with them at all times?” Grantaire muses, watching Courfeyrac go. Enjolras snorts.

    “He’s done it since middle school. It’s ridiculous.”

    “Well, it’s very… _Courfeyrac._ ”

    “Combeferre loves it. He thinks it’s cute or something.”

    “Not if you’re going to have to spend the next year getting glitter out of your hair.” Grantaire scratches his head, and glitter falls onto the blankets. “Shit, there’s a lot. What the fuck, Courf?” Enjolras groans as he runs his fingers through his hair.

    “This will take forever to get out,” he says, staring mournfully at the pile of glitter resting on the blankets.

    “We’ll do it together,” Grantaire says, reaching over to help. “Like chimps picking lice off of one another.” Enjolras laughs, and Grantaire smiles to himself.

 

    A week later, he’s at Enjolras’s house with everyone else. Enjolras is sitting on the couch, leaning against Grantaire as he talks to Jehan and Bahorel about the influence of capitalism on society and one’s moral compass. Grantaire is listening to Cosette rant about how difficult it is to find a prom dress when you’re barely five feet, and _why_ are all of the petite size dresses so damn _ugly?_

“Wait,” Jehan says, cutting into the conversations. “Where are we going before prom? Like anyone’s house in particular?”

    “Definitely not mine,” Grantaire says. He hasn’t been back home since he was released from the hospital, except to get his car. Every time he’s driven past, he’s seen one of his parents’ cars in the driveway, and he just has no desire to talk to either one of them. He had been staying with Eponine, but had left after a few days. Her apartment is just too small for her and her siblings, let alone the addition of a whole other person. Right now, he’s staying with Enjolras- in the guest room, of course. Enjolras’s mom had made sure of that. He doesn’t feel as though his parents deserve to see him- what gives them the right to essentially abandon him for years upon years, missing birthdays and holidays and milestones, only to come back and expect everything to be normal? He wants to talk to them, but he doesn’t want to flip out, and he needs time before he will be able to achieve that goal.

    “You guys could come to my apartment!” Courfeyrac says from his position on the shag carpet. “I could get alcohol and shit- it will be fun!”

    “I don’t want to be completely wasted when we get to prom, Courf,” Combeferre says drily. He’s perched in an armchair, looking away from Courfeyrac as he says this, and something about it nags at Grantaire. The two of them haven’t been talking as much today, and their distance from each other right now is a big warning sign, especially given how close the two of them usually are. Grantaire casts a look at Enjolras, who seems to notice nothing. Courfeyrac’s mouth sets into a thin line.

    “Is that really what you think of me? That I’m going to bring a cartload of booze to my house right before prom?”

    “Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me at this point!” Combeferre fires back. Courfeyrac looks hurt, but pastes a very obviously fake smile onto his face.

    “Okay then! No booze. Actually- guys, sorry, I need to call my mom to let her know when I’ll be home.” Courfeyrac gets up and walks out of the room. Grantaire hears his steps echoing down the hall, and the sound of a door shutting. He wiggles out from underneath Enjolras, who looks mildly annoyed at this, and follows Courfeyrac, not bothering to make an excuse for himself.

    “Courf?” he calls as he wanders down the hallway, passing paintings and portraits. He stops at one of Enjolras on what must have been his first day of kindergarten or first grade. His hair hangs down to his shoulders, and he’s glaring at the camera, a sullen pout fixed upon his face. It’s unbelievably adorable, and Grantaire snaps a picture with his phone before continuing down the hallway.

    He stops outside of the last door, knocking hesitantly. He hears a muffled “shit,” and someone blowing their nose.

    “Courfeyrac? Are you okay?”

    “Grantaire?” Grantaire knocks again.

    “Can I come in?” The door swings open, and Grantaire has a sudden flashback to the night of Courfeyrac’s party so long ago. Courfeyrac is standing in the doorway, eyes red, tear tracks evident on his face. Grantaire steps inside, shutting the door behind him, and slumps down to the floor, patting the spot next to him in an invitation. Courfeyrac plops down and buries his head in his hands, and Grantaire can hear muffled sobbing.

    “What’s wrong, Courf?” Grantaire asks, genuinely worried. Even at the party, he’s never seen Courfeyrac like this. Courfeyrac looks up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

    “Ferre’s so mad at me, and I just- Grantaire, I’m in love with him I think, and he won’t even look at me!” Grantaire has no idea what to do- he’s never been good with emotions, and he still isn’t. But he thinks he knows where to start.

    “What happened to make him so mad at you?” he asks, rubbing Courfeyrac’s back in what he hopes is a comforting manner. Courfeyrac lets out a small hiccup.

    “I- I asked him if he wanted to have sex on prom night, because that’s, like, something people do, right?” Grantaire nods. “And he said that he didn’t really feel comfortable doing that since he’s still a virgin and I was like okay that’s fine, I just want you to know that I’m not and I know what works and what doesn’t, and I won’t hurt you or anything if that’s what you’re worried about since I’ve had sex a _lot._ And after I said that he got really mad- like _super_ mad, I’ve never seen him like this before- and said that I couldn’t impose my ‘lifestyle’ on him and that I was trying to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do and then he just left and I don’t even know what I did!” Grantaire pauses for a moment, because Courfeyrac’s right- it really _doesn’t_ sound like Combeferre, and he wants to be pretty sure he has it right before telling Courfeyrac what his theory is.

    “Okay,” he says after a while. “I think it’s because- Courf, Combeferre _really_ likes you, you know that, right?” Courfeyrac nods. “So he might have taken it personally with you, like, kind of… _bragging_ about how much sex you’ve had. Where did you have all this sex anyway?” he asks, somewhat curious. Courfeyrac is very openly pansexual, and many people in their school, though not averse to sex, are averse to having sex with people who are not straight.

    Courfeyrac shrugs. “Around. I go away a lot. I’ve also had sex with girls- you know, before I came out. Now it’s mostly guys, and not here. It’s all casual, and I don’t understand why he’s so pissed about it!”

    “But Courf, he doesn’t _know_ that it’s all casual. He’s a virgin, and it sounds like he wants his first time having sex to be, like, meaningful or whatever. So I don’t think he necessarily cares that you aren’t a virgin, but he’s just kind of jealous that you’ve, like, done all of this stuff that he believes is really meaningful and emotional and stuff, when in reality, sometimes it’s just sex and nothing else.”

    “So then why doesn’t he want to have sex with me?”

    “Because he’s scared,” Grantaire says simply. “Hell, _I’m_ scared to have sex! I’m still a virgin,” he adds, answering Courfeyrac’s questioning look. “So I kind of get it. It’s not you, it’s just he’s mad that you’ve had your first time already with someone that isn’t him, and he doesn’t want you talking about it when you’re trying to convince him to do something that he isn't sure he even wants to do.” He finishes, and is immensely proud of himself for somehow managing to read emotions in what he thinks is the correct manner, and articulating his thoughts into something that makes some sort of sense. Courfeyrac has stopped crying for the most part, and is nodding slowly.

    “Okay,” he says, after a long while. “That makes sense, I guess. But how do I fix it?”

    “I don’t know,” Grantaire says honestly. He doesn't know why Courfeyrac is asking _him,_ of all people, for relationship advice. “Maybe just talk to him about it?” Courfeyrac yawns, running a hand through his hair.

    “‘Kay,” he says. “Like, right now?”

    “If you want,” Grantaire answers. Looking properly energized, he springs to his feet, his typical smile back on his face, and excitement glinting in his eyes.

    “All right then! Let’s do this thing.” Slightly nervous, Grantaire follows Courfeyrac back to the living room, where everyone is sitting huddled around Combeferre. They jump back, looking guilty when they see Courfeyrac stride into the room.

    “Combeferre,” Courfeyrac says, perching on the armrest of the armchair that Combeferre is sitting in, “I’m really sorry if I said something to offend you when we were talking about, you know, doing the do.” He winks, and Bahorel wolf-whistles. “I hope you know that I feel way more attracted to you then I ever did to everyone else I’ve has sex with- and I don’t want to pressure you into anything.” The excess dramatics disappear from his voice as he grows more earnest, almost pleading. “Honestly? It’s too late- but I wish my first time could be with you. I think I might love you, Ferre,” Courfeyrac finishes, looking at Combeferre with scared eyes. Combeferre claps a hand over his mouth, and the room is dead silent. Grantaire looks to Eponine with wide eyes. She shrugs. Courfeyrac is still gazing at Combeferre, seemingly unaware that other people are still in the room. “Say something,” he pleads.

    “I- I don’t know what to say,” Combeferre says. “I mean, I thank you for your apology, and I accept it, and I think I do want to have sex with you, if you shut up about everyone else that you’ve ever done it with-” Courfeyrac squeals in delight, throwing his arms around Combeferre’s neck. Combeferre pats his head awkwardly. “But- Courf, I like you a lot, but I just don’t know if I can say it back. And I need you to be okay with that.” Courfeyrac pulls away.

    “That’s fine,” he says, looking as serious as Grantaire can ever recall seeing him. “But I need you to be okay with telling me the _second_ you feel ready.” Combeferre laughs, and kisses Courfeyrac, twining his hands through Courfeyrac’s dark curls.

    “Get a fucking _room,_ losers,” Eponine yells, walking over to them and pulling them apart. “Honestly, there are other people here!” Courfeyrac laughs, face flushed, and twines his fingers with Combeferre’s .

    “I think we’ll save that for prom night- unless Combeferre would prefer otherwise?” Combeferre shrugs, eyes sparkling mischievously. Courfeyrac smiles even wider, if that’s possible. “Enjolras, would you happen to have a spare room that is not currently in use by Grantaire?” Courfeyrac asks politely. Enjolras looks incredibly alarmed.

    “I’m afraid I do not,” he says, getting up, and practically shoving Courfeyrac and Combeferre out the doorway. “Do what you want, but not in my house! And use protection!” Courfeyrac giggles, and pulls Combeferre through the doorway, and Grantaire hears a door slam behind the two of them.

    “What the _fuck,_ ” Feuilly groans, letting out a breath. Joly hums in agreement. “Why does all of their emotional bonding need to happen in front of us? Haven’t we suffered enough by watching them pine over each other for literal _years_?” Bossuet laughs.

    “Speaking of sex on prom night,” Grantaire says, gathering his courage and glancing at Enjolras slyly. Enjolras turns pink.

    “I- um-” Grantaire laughs.

    “It’s okay, we don’t have to.”

    “But I _want_ to, I just need to tell you-”

    “ _Go have your fucking emotional bonding somewhere else!_ ” Bahorel cries, throwing a pillow at them. It hits Grantaire in the arm.

    “ _It’s my fucking house!”_ Enjolras yells back, reaching over Grantaire to throw the pillow in retaliation. It hits Bahorel square in the face, and he looks up with wide eyes.

    “ _Bring it._ ”

 

    One hour and three broken pillows later, Grantaire waves goodbye to Bossuet, who has somehow avoided obtaining any serious injury throughout the duration of the pillow fight, and turns back to Enjolras, who is twisting the hem of his shirt around in his hands.

    “What’d you need to tell me, Enjolras?” he asks, closing the door and walking over to his boyfriend (his _boyfriend!!!),_ taking his hands. Enjolras takes a breath, pulling his hands from Grantaire’s grip. Grantaire backs up, feeling slightly stung.

    “I’m trans,” Enjolras says bluntly, staring at a spot somewhere to the left of Grantaire. “I feel like it's something you should know- because isn't that what dating is? Knowing everything about the other person? Anyway, it makes it easier, you know, it won't be like you're just finding out when we're about to- um, have sex." he blushes slightly.

    "I- thank you for telling me," Grantaire says, feeling slightly overwhelmed. Enjolras choosing to tell him this, having known him less than a year, means so much. “Please tell me if there's anything that you ever feel uncomfortable with or if you have dysphoria and need help or something- I love you, and-” he freezes, realizing what he’s just said. “Shit,” he mutters. Enjolras is frozen, eyes wide, and Grantaire chuckles slightly, despite himself. “We’re just like Courf and Ferre, aren’t we,” he muses. Enjolras gives a shaky laugh. “You don’t have to say it back,” Grantaire says quickly, cursing himself for being so stupid, for letting emotions get the better of him yet again, to think that just because Enjolras has shared this piece of his past with him, he is also ready to love Grantaire even just a fraction of the amount Grantaire loves him-

    “I love you too,” Enjolras says, and his words are strong and clear and he only looks a little afraid. And how can Grantaire resist when the hottest boy he’s ever laid eyes on is right in front of him, telling Grantaire that he wants to have sex with him, that he _loves_ him, so Grantaire pulls him for a kiss, and it feels like everything is right with the world, if only for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Outline? Ha, what outline?...  
> Thank you guys so much for reading!!! The next chapter, as usual, will be up next Monday. Please leave comments and kudos, they mean so much and give me motivation to keep writing!!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter!!! I'm so sorry for updating like 3 weeks late, I had a lot of family stuff going on and a fever of like 103 so it took me way longer than normal to finish this chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Grantaire runs a hand through his hair and eyes himself critically in the mirror. He’s wearing a navy blue suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. Courfeyrac had selected a burgundy handkerchief for his pocket, as well as a burgundy and black plaid tie. Grantaire had been skeptical, but it had ended up working surprisingly well. He tilts his chin up slightly and angles his phone to get  _ that  _ perfect picture to send to Eponine, when his phone buzzes. He curses, and answers it, glaring into the mirror. 

“Hola!” Courfeyrac sings from the other end of the line. 

“Courf, you ruined my perfect picture moment. I actually looked  _ good. _ ”

“Oh, sorry,” Courfeyrac says, in a voice that does not sound at all sorry. “But I was wondering if you knew what time Enjolras was coming to pick you up. You’re coming to my place before prom, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Awesomesauce!” Courfeyrac yells, and Grantaire hears something crash to the ground.

“Courf? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, R, just broke a plate. Anyways,  _ you  _ should be getting ready so you can see the lovely Enjolras when he comes to your door and  _ not  _ look like a complete mess!”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime, mon ami!” Courfeyrac hangs up. Grantaire tucks his phone into his pocket and looks at himself in the mirror one last time before taking a deep breath and heading downstairs. His mom is there to greet him. 

Grantaire had come back to live in his own house last week, despite the insistence of Enjolras and his mom that Grantaire remain in their spare room. He felt as though he should try again, that maybe he and his parents could get another shot at being a family. His mother was certainly trying: making all of Grantaire’s favorite meals (from when he was seven, but the effort was nice) and taking a day off from work when Grantaire was sick last week to take care of him. Grantaire’s father was a little more awkward about it, treating Grantaire the same way he would treat a stranger whom he was chatting with at a party. However, it was nice to have family dinners once again, even though the conversation was strained. 

“Oh honey, you look so good!” She reaches out to him, probably to straighten his tie or something similar, but Grantaire steps back. Her smile fades slightly, but she pastes it back on.

“Do you have a date? When will you be picking her up?” Grantaire grimaces. He would rather not tell her, but it is going to be exceedingly obvious that he has no intention of bringing a girl to the prom when Enjolras shows up at the door. If it was anyone else, he could probably play it off like they were just friends, but ever since they’ve started dating, Enjolras has been incredibly touchy-feely, which is amazing, but less so in times such as this. 

“Um, actually…” he’s interrupted by the loud ringing of the doorbell. His mother frowns in confusion, and hurries to the door, peeking through the peephole. Her expression relaxes when she sees Enjolras.

“Grantaire, your friend is here! En- Enj- whatever his name was!” She unlocks the door, ushering Enjolras inside. Grantaire’s jaw drops.

Enjolras is wearing a plain black suit with a black bow tie and bright red pocket square, and  _ holy shit,  _ he looks  _ incredible.  _ It should honestly be illegal for someone to look that good in a suit, because it just  _ is not fair.  _ Enjolras strides over to Grantaire, and before Grantaire can do anything to stop it, he kisses Grantaire sweetly on the lips. Grantaire pulls back quickly, face burning, glancing at his mom, who is covering her mouth with one hand. 

“...oh my,” she says at last. “I didn’t know you were… um… gay.” Grantaire digs his heel into the ground uncomfortably. 

“Well, I am. Not gay. I’m bi.” His mom nods, seemingly in shock. Grantaire feels extremely annoyed. He would have come out to his parents if they had given  _ any  _ inclination of caring  _ at all  _ over the years, and now she’s acting like it was some big secret he was keeping from her, the caring and invested mother.

“Why didn’t you tell me you felt like this?” she blurts out. “I could have helped you.” Grantaire peeks over at Enjolras, whose eyes are alight with a cold fury. Grantaire swallows, about to answer, but his mom keeps going. “I know your father and I haven’t been around much because of work and all, and so is it possible that that’s the reason why you’ve gotten this… this illness?” Grantaire feels like he’s been struck in the face. He opens his mouth to respond, to say something, anything, that will tell her how utterly  _ wrong  _ she is, but nothing comes out.

“Why the  _ fuck  _ would you expect Grantaire to tell you something like this when you’re  _ never  _ there for him?” Enjolras asks suddenly, eyes blazing. “Especially when you would act like this- invalidating his identity and who he is and treating it like it’s some kind of disease.  _ Your son is bisexual.  _ That doesn’t make him any less of a  _ person,  _ it doesn’t mean he has a  _ problem,  _ it just means he’s attracted to people who don’t fit the mold of who you always envisioned he would be attracted to. You’re just a homophobic bigot who doesn’t deserve to have my boyfriend- and yes, he is my boyfriend- as your son. Grantaire can do  _ so much better  _ than you, and he will. He’s going to live with me- for as long as he needs.”  Enjolras looks at Grantaire to see if this is okay, and Grantaire nods, shaken. He doesn’t feel upset, or empty, just a serene sort of acceptance. He hasn’t been close with his mom or his dad for many years now, and seeing them react like this just enforces his dislike of them. He would much rather live with Enjolras, it’s true.

“Now,” Enjolras says suddenly, “if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to go to prom. Grantaire is going to come back to my house afterwards and he can come back whenever to get clothes and stuff.” Enjolras drags Grantaire out the door, and out to his car. He looks at Grantaire then, eyes softening.

“Hey- are you okay?” Grantaire realizes that he’s crying.

“Yeah,” he mutters, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Enjolras looks anxious.

“Crap- should I not have said anything? You don’t have to live with me if you’d rather live with your parents- that was a shitty thing for me to imply-” Grantaire cuts him off.

“No. It wasn’t. Thank you. And yes, I would love to live with you.” Enjolras smiles in relief. They say nothing more as they turn into Courfeyrac’s street, pulling up beside his apartment building.

“I’ve never gotten over how fucking  _ rich  _ he is,” Grantaire says admiringly, looking up at the building. Enjolras scoffs beside him.

“Money isn’t everything,” he says. “Sometimes, the people with a shit ton of money are the ones who are the most responsible for fucking up the world.” That is the most  _ Enjolras  _ thing to say, and Grantaire smiles at him. Enjolras looks confused, but smiles back, taking Grantaire’s hand in his own.

“Grantaire,” he says, looking down and blushing slightly. “I really like you. Please don’t forget that, or think that I don’t, even for one second.” Grantaire nods, because he thinks if he tries to say anything, he will cry. Instead, he cupe Enjolras’s face in his hands and kisses him sweetly on the lips, before pulling back and resting their foreheads together. There is a knock on the car window, and Grantaire whirls around. Jehan is waving at them, grinning unabashedly. Enjolras sighs.

“They really let us have no privacy,” he mutters. “I question these friendships every day.” Grantaire snorts, opens his door, and climbs out of the car. Enjolras follows. 

“You are just  _ too fucking cute, _ ” Jehan says as they walk up the steps to the building. Enjolras rolls his eyes. 

“Jehan, we know. It kind of goes unsaid.” Jehan laughs. 

“Well I had to watch Grantaire pine, like, all year, so the least you can do is give me this.” Enjolras looks at Grantaire questioningly. 

“I didn’t know you were pining all year.” Grantaire and Jehan look at each other incredulously.

“Um, sorry, but  _ how _ ? I wasn’t exactly slick.” Enjolras shrugs.

“I don’t know. I thought you hated me.”

“Well, I obviously did not.” Enjolras laughs, and takes Grantaire’s hand. 

“True.”

They’ve reached Courfeyrac’s apartment. Enjolras knocks on the door and the door swings open almost instantly. 

“Hi!” Courfeyrac shouts. “Oh my  _ god,  _ Grantaire, I would totally bang you.” He winks at Grantaire. “Enjolras, you look hot also.” Enjolras laughs. “Jehan, you’re always a ten, but today, you are an  _ eleven _ .” Jehan giggles and kisses Courfeyrac on the cheek in thanks. Courfeyrac opens the door wider and gestures for them to come inside. 

“Thank you, Courfeyrac,” Enjolras says, scanning the room behind him. “Is everyone else here?”

“Almost. Marius and Cosette aren’t here yet.”

“We think he was murdered by her father,” Bahorel says from his position perched on the arm of the sofa. “It wouldn’t surprise any of us. Her father is fucking  _ terrifying. _ ” Grantaire laughs. He takes a seat on the soft shag rug, leaning against Bahorel’s legs. Just then, Musichetta waltzes into the room, striking a pose. Joly’s mouth falls open, and Bossuet looks starstruck. 

“What do you think?” she asks. She’s wearing a pale pink off the shoulder dress with a slit up one side. The bodice is adorned with sequins, and she’s wearing a pair of silver stilettos. Her hair is up in an elegant knot with a few strands framing her face. She looks like a goddess.

“Chetta- holy shit-” Bossuet manages. She laughs.

“I’ll take that as a complement,” she replies, perching in his lap. He looks up at her adoringly. Just then, there’s a knock on the door, and Courfeyrac is upon it instantly. 

“Welcome, welcome!” he sings, holding the door open so that a very flustered Marius can enter, followed by a grinning Cosette. She’s wearing a fiery red gown cinched at the waist with a long tulle skirt that brushes the floor. The gown has a plunging neckline, and has strips of fabric that twine into each other and snake upwards to form a sort of choker around her neck. Her hair is in an elegant braided bun. Marius cannot stop staring at her. Grantaire cannot stop staring at Enjolras. Even his profile is stunning. He’s like a marble statue come to life, right here in Courfeyrac’s living room. Grantaire still cannot believe that he’s Grantaire’s  _ boyfriend.  _ How lucky can someone get?

“Okay, I promised my mom to get pictures of everyone and each individual couple,” Courfeyrac says, pulling out the most complex-looking camera Grantaire has ever seen from behind the couch. “So let’s do couples first!” Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta run up, and Courfeyrac snaps a few pictures of them. “Marius and Cosette, our only straight couple here… the token straights!” Enjolras snorts, and Marius and Cosette grin as they pose for the camera.“Fabulous! Grantaire and Enjolras, you’re next…” Enjolras takes Grantaire’s hand, and they grin at the camera. Courfeyrac snaps their picture, and then hands the camera to Jehan. “Finally, the golden couple. The couple everyone strives to be…” Grantaire rolls his eyes as Courfeyrac drags out the silence. “Me and Ferre!” he finishes dramatically, and the two of them pose for the camera as Jehan snaps their picture, somehow knowing the correct buttons to press. 

“Okay, thank you for effectively reminding all of the single people that they’re single,” Eponine says jokingly, taking the camera from Jehan. “But let’s do the group picture now.” Courfeyrac grabs a tripod seemingly out of nowhere ( _ why  _ is there so much hidden camera equipment in his apartment?) and sets the camera up on top of it. He switches on the timer, and herds everybody into position.

“Okay guys, smile!” he says, and Grantaire smiles at the camera. He feels Enjolras squeeze his hand, and smiles harder. 

 

The theme of the prom is “A Night In Paris,” which essentially means that the ballroom of the hotel is decorated with a plastic replica of the Eiffel Tower in one corner, and fairy lights strung across the ceiling. Courfeyrac is enamoured, and snaps about a million selfies of himself with various people, including Combeferre, Enjolras, Jehan, Grantaire, and a random student who looks relieved when Courfeyrac releases him. He posts a few on his Instagram story, and tags the group. He then grabs Combeferre’s hand, and drags him onto the dance floor.

Grantaire holds his breath, hoping that nobody will shun the two of them for dancing together in a way that makes it obvious that they are a couple- but aside from a few inquisitive looks, nobody really seems to notice. People are simply too wrapped up in the feelings of the night. Still, Grantaire isn’t ready to dance. Not after being shunned by his mom like that. Enjolras seems to understand this, and leads him to a table, where they sit down. Grantaire picks at a fraying thread on the otherwise crisp white napkin. 

“Are you okay?” Enjolras asks him softly, leaning forwards so he can be heard over the sound of the music. Grantaire nods, then shakes his head, then nods. He covers his face and laughs.

“I guess- I just never thought I would be here? I mean, with you- at prom. And with people other than Eponine. It’s just-” he shakes his head again, glancing at Enjolras, whose eyes have grown soft. He grabs Grantaire’s hand and Grantaire feels a shiver run up his spine. 

“I know. And I want you to know- you don’t have to be as out there as Courf is. Or as I am, for that matter. About dating me,” he adds, when Grantaire gives him a questioning look. “I understand you may not necessarily be comfortable with people constantly judging you-”

Grantaire cuts him off, kissing him on the mouth. He will never get used to this- this feeling of being able to kiss Enjolras  _ whenever he wants.  _ He must have been a saint in a past life, he thinks. Otherwise, how would he ever have done anything to deserve this?

“Why would I be ashamed of dating you?” he asks, pulling away. Enjolras casts his eyes down, blushing. Grantaire tilts his chin up, meeting his eyes- those blue eyes that are so piercing, that Grantaire once thought would never see him as anything other than an annoyance, a distraction from the goals at hand, and that are now looking at him with so much love and trust and adoration. “ _ I love you _ ,” he says, and Enjolras smiles so bright that it seems to light up the entire ballroom. 

Courfeyrac dances over at that moment, grabbing both of them by the hand and dragging them out to the dance floor.

“You guys are such  _ losers, _ ” he laughs. “Come dance with us!” Enjolras shakes his head, smiling, but Courfeyrac seizes his arm, stopping him from leaving. “No. You are going to dance with your boyfriend and have a glorious time and be amazingly cute and let me take a million pictures for Snapchat and Instagram. Otherwise I will- I’ll- ignore you for a week!” he finishes, hands on his hips. Enjolras rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, and he takes Grantaire’s hands, and the two of them sway back and forth. Courfeyrac whips out his phone and nearly blinds the two of them with the flash from his camera, but right now, Grantaire honestly couldn't care less. 

They are soon joined by Eponine, who is doing the macarena alongside Jehan. Grantaire laughs out loud at this, and Jehan giggles.

“ _ Dancing With the Stars  _ material right here,” he says, and Grantaire nods.

“Hell yes,” he says. “You’ve got my vote for sure.”

The rest of the night goes somewhat like this, with a break for food during which Courfeyrac takes the opportunity to complain about the lack of food suitable for his “finer palate,” at which Combeferre takes to opportunity to remind him that fifty percent of the food he eats comes from the pizza place down the street from their school.  _ School.  _ It feels so far away right now- and Grantaire can’t believe it has been less than a year since Eponine dragged him to that very first meeting of the Social Justice Club. 

They sit down to eat, Grantaire between Joly and Enjolras. Grantaire hadn’t realized how hungry he is until he begins to eat- he finishes his pasta in about three minutes. Joly is gaping at him from his seat on Grantaire’s left. 

“Surely that can’t be good for your digestive system,” he says worriedly, and Bossuet laughs and reassures him that Grantaire is (most likely) fine. 

“Don’t worry Joly,” Grantaire says. “My digestive system can’t be more ruined than it already is with all of the ramen I’ve consumed this year.” Joly laughs, and seems more at ease. 

“So,” Bahorel says from across the table, setting down his utensils. “Who here is getting lucky tonight?” Next to him, Marius buries his head in his hands to hide his blush as Cosette laughs at him. Courfeyrac and Combeferre exchange smirks, and Joly and Bossuet look hopefully at Musichetta, who laughs at them. Grantaire tries to keep his cool, but can’t resist sneaking a glance at Enjolras, who is looking right back at him, face slightly flushed. Bahorel whoops. 

“I will take that as an affirmative that  _ all  _ of our lovely couples here with us tonight  _ will be engaging in acts of sexual intercourse _ !” he booms. 

“Thanks for alerting the entire school,” Enjolras remarks drily, and Bahorel winks.

“Like you didn’t want everyone to know that tonight you would be losing your virginity to Grantaire over here,” he shoots back, and Enjolras blushes harder. Grantaire squeezes his hand underneath the table.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t mind people knowing,” he whispers, raising his eyebrows in what he hopes is a suggestive manner, but probably just looks dumb, because Enjolras snorts at him before turning away to talk to Combeferre. 

Grantaire spends the next few minutes laughing with Joly and Bossuet about Marius, who still looks like a tomato, and stealing Enjolras’s pasta, piece by piece. 

“I actually just can’t imagine Marius having sex,” Bossuet says, taking a drink of his ginger ale. “Like, that would involve him being… I don’t know…  _ sexy,  _ I guess.”

“It’s just so unlike him,” Grantaire agrees. “Like, I don’t know, he’s just one of those people who you think just appears every morning to go to school and then disappears at the end of the day. I can’t imagine him having sex, or, like, showering or whatever.” Joly covers his eyes with a groan.

“Thank you for giving me the mental image of Marius showering,” he says, and Bossuet laughs.

“Just spice it up a little so it isn’t so bad- make him wear a shower cap with little anchors on it or something, and give him a rubber duck.”

“Marius probably has all that anyway,” Grantaire points out, and Joly laughs.

“What are you guys talking about?” Enjolras asks, apparently finished with his rant. He looks at his plate and scowls. “Grantaire, did you eat all of my pasta?” Grantaire winks.

“We’re talking about Marius having sex,” Bossuet adds, and Enjolras turns pale, pasta forgotten. 

“That is not something I want to think about,” he says, voice very serious, and Grantaire snorts. 

“It’s not something ay of us want to think about, really,” Joly says. “But Grantaire put the image in all of our heads, so now it’s there forever and I am permanently traumatized.” Grantaire tips an imaginary cap.

“All in a day’s work,” he says. 

Their conversation, however, is rudely interrupted by the ballroom lighting up with a spotlight that illuminates Principal Javert standing on a hastily constructed stage, holding a sparkly pink envelope that looks incredibly out of place in his hands. He taps the microphone, and the students are instantly silent. Grantaire rolls his eyes at Enjolras. 

“Ahem,” he says, clearing his throat. “It is time to announce the prom king and queen.” 

“I hate this,” Enjolras whispers, lips just grazing Grantaire’s ear. “It’s a popularity contest is all- the most popular boy and girl. And it is  _ completely  _ exclusionary to gay or lesbian couples, not to mention people who identify as multiple genders or no gender at all.” Grantaire nods, but shushes him- he wants to listen. He voted for Eponine originally, and when she didn’t make it onto the prom court, has voted for Cosette as queen. He hadn’t casted a vote for king, namely because the one person who he truly believed deserved it wasn’t in the running, and was sitting right next to him, scowling at Principal Javert and the students as they whisper to one another in anticipation. 

“Your prom king is…” Principal Javert says, drawing out the silence as he opened the envelope, pulling out a slip of paper. He scans it, eyes narrowing slightly, before sighing. “Montparnasse,” he says. There is cheering from the crowd, and a flustered Montparnasse takes the stage, smirking out at the crowd and adjusting the lapels of his crushed velvet tux. 

“So fucking extra,” Grantaire whispers to Enjolras, who nods in agreement.

“It doesn’t even look  _ good, _ ” he whispers back, and Grantaire snickers. 

“Thank you to everyone who voted for me,” a voice says, and Grantaire looks back up to see that Montparnasse has seized the microphone from a disgruntled Javert, and is proceeding to make a speech to the crowd, who is hanging on to his every word. “As your prom king, I promise to look  _ spectacular  _ in this crown, and to be a great king for this night.” The crowd cheers wildly, and Montparnasse hands the microphone back to Javert, who glares at him.

“Thank you for that, Montparnasse,” he says drily, and looks back down at the paper. “Your prom queen,” he begins, and a hush falls out over the crowd. Grantaire sees girls gripping their friends’ hands tightly, biting their fingernails, gazing rapturously at the stage as if Javert is some sort of god promising enlightenment. 

Grantaire looks over at where Cosette and Marius are standing at the back of the crowd. Marius has his arm wrapped around her, and looks much more nervous than Cosette does. Cosette is watching him, stifling giggles as he gazes anxiously at the stage.

“...is…” Javert draws out, sensing the excitement of the students below him. “Cosette Fauchelevent,” he finishes, and the crowd cheers. Marius hugs Cosette tightly, and Cosette smiles as she walks up to the stage to accept her crown. Javert shakes her hand before placing the tiara on her head, and she grins out at the crowd, ducking her head bashfully. 

“Now, as is the custom, our king and queen will start off the first dance,” Javert says, and Grantaire laughs as Cosette’s smile falters. Montparnasse looks like the cat that caught the canary- he takes her by the hand and leads her to the center of the dance floor, students parting before them like the Red Sea- until there is a small circle just wide enough for the two of them to comfortably dance together. Cosette holds herself as far away from Montparnasse as possible, much to Grantaire’s amusement. “Lucky Ones” by Lana Del Rey begins to play, and the two of them sway, looking slightly like a couple from junior high, unsure of where they stand in the other’s mind, afraid to show their feelings- not unlike Grantaire a few months ago. 

 

_ Every now and then, the stars align _

 

__ Grantaire glances at Enjolras, who is already looking at him, and offers his hand. Enjolras takes it, blush blooming high on those beautiful cheekbones.

 

_ Boy and girl meet by the great design.  _

 

Enjolras stiffens at this, and Grantaire looks at him. 

“It’s just a song, Enj,” he says. Enjolras huffs.

“That’s no excuse to promote heteronormativity!” Grantaire kisses him on the cheek, and the fire leaves his eyes. “But I guess… we could just dance instead,” he offers, and Grantaire laughs.

“How magnanimous of you,” he says, laying his head on Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras hums contently.

 

_ Can it be that you and me _

 

__ Grantaire lifts his head and gazes at Enjolras, who is looking right back- gazes at those beautiful eyes, those perfect cheekbones, those perfectly pink lips that have been pressed up against his own so many times over the past few weeks. He looks at all this- at  _ his boyfriend,  _ and just- pauses for a second.

 

_ Are the lucky ones _

 

He remembers meeting Enjolras- being astounded by him before even knowing his name- astounded by his passion and belief and conviction and utter certainty that things can and will change for the better. He remembers arguing with him countless times over the smallest things, really. He remembers that fateful ride in Enjolras’s car that day- the day he had realized that he and Enjolras maybe had potential to be friends. He remembers the two almost-kisses, the mix of anger and relief he felt after each one. He remembers all this, and more, and he can tell Enjolras does too. 

 

_ Everybody told me love was blind _

 

__ “Grantaire,” Enjolras whispers. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything,” Grantaire answers. “I’ll polish your boots.”

 

_ Then I saw your face and you blew my mind _

 

__ “Please- don’t break up with me.” Grantaire looks at Enjolras, who looks suddenly vulnerable. 

“Why the fuck would I do that?” he asks softly, and Enjolras smiles at him, not answering, only pulling him closer to dance.

 

_ Finally, you and me are the lucky ones this time _

  
__ Their lips meet, and Grantaire reflects on everything- every step, word, and action that has led up to this point. Really, this had all been a mistake. It was all Eponine’s fault, as things tend to be. But this- somehow, this had worked out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so so so much for reading this!!! I hope you liked it!! Tbh, it makes me kind of sad that this fic is over, I really loved writing it and I sincerely thank each and every one of you who left comments and/or kudos. You guys encouraged me to keep writing, and I honestly probably would have just abandoned this fic around Chapter 4 without you.  
> Also, I have a Tumblr!!! The url is the-night-that-ends-at-last.tumblr.com. It's literally 100% Les Mis, and I also take fic requests. Feel free to message me whenever!  
> Ilysm, and thank you again for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave comments and kudos, they mean the world to me. There will probably be around 10-12 chapters in this fic, and I should be updating about every week.


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